The room with rocks protruding,as if demons trying to eat me alive..
On that small bench,with few rags as matress..
Even when the whole bed was empty,I stuck to my corner,not to taint the peace of yours with me..
That is such a beautiful home..
You said you cried missing me,when I was away..
But each time all I saw was you looking at the heavy bags I carried home,
And the things in it..
To fulfil your demands..
You said you cared about me..
But each day all I heard was how sick you were..
And the proof sat,the empty bottles of medicines,that you took away from my room,
So casually,never even asking me,what if I was actually in need of it..
And yes,those were opened bottles,consumed by me..
The only good words I heard from you,about me,was when I succeeded..
And when I failed,all I heard was mockery and taunts hidden behind the thin layers of pity..
And I sat wondering,if you were actually living a good life,not needing me..
Then you might have killed me with your own hands,the moments I dared to look up..
How beautiful is home
