User blog:Parax./John asks for some Peer Review

um ya johnny boy wants sum review on a poem thank u

Is This Home?

We all have time,

When we're lost beyond hope.

Our will is broken, our resolve is poisoned,

And our existence is shaken.

We search for strength in and security,

In a place we call home.

"Hey, what's wrong ****-head?

Aww, awe you gownna cwy?

Don't worry, we'll wipe those tears off your fat face."

A black eye, an injured arm,

Maybe a broken nose.

Where can you escape to?

Fastened to the blades, your hands act on their own.

In crimson rivers your troubles flee.

Do you think you're at "home?"

Skin bleeds, burns blister, stomach turns to bone.

Craving for that blade again,

Sending troubles far away.

Hoping to feel the pain again,

To remind yourself you're here.

Is that a "home" to you?

Your parents found the blade.

Now what will you do?

Alone, afraid, without a friend,

Swallowed in despair.

An escape is a simple noose away.

Around your neck, a rope there goes.

You wish your family goodbye,

And walk into death alone.

Maybe finally you'll find "home."

Oof, that's bright.

Wait, what's going on?

Does even Death deny you?

You're strapped and fastened to the bed,

With your family lying before you.

"Why?" they beg.

Tell me more about your "home."

The next few months are hell,

You can't even touch a pen.

Watched and trapped,

Waiting for your life to end.

You can kick and scream all you like,

And argue you're not crazy.

But the doctors nod and dope you up,

And leave you to a slumber.

What a place to call "home."

Your life since changed,

But your wrists itch still.

The demons are gone,

But memories remain,

Of those horrors now long past.

Your demons are quelled,

But scars remain,

From a battle greater than a war.

Why, why do it?

What comfort could you achieve?

Maybe you'll never know.

Just be glad that you've moved on,

And found a place you can call "home."