arrived late
woke early
half expectated
home
to feel
like a relief
but it doesn’t

the birds sing
the same song
the bed is there
the smell
the conforts

the nothingg
the silence
the anxiety

maybe
that part of me
that knows
i deserve
lesser than
realizes
being on the road
relaxed the burden
of solitary
existence
with the shared
misery
of the others
trapped
in that hotel life

now there is
no excuse
but to face it

at least on those
cold
kennesaw strolls
the dream was
it would all be
somewhat better

instead
it is more
of the same