There's No Place Like Home

I recognised my old home as soon as I
Glanced at the broken door, the frame
Clinging onto it by the last screw of a single,
Rusted hinge. The white paint had chipped
And cracked like an elephant’s dry hide,
Washing away the feeling of purity and
Instead replacing it with a dirty brown.
This building was no longer a new-born;
Scaffolding that breastfed the foundations
Had long since been felled, much like the
Many trees surrounding the property,
Leaving it almost naked and vulnerable to
The sharp early November chill that pricked
My fingertips through my fingerless gloves,
Much like the corners of each wooden board
Of the place. Not only the door, but all the
Walls had been weathered by time, the
Paint chipped and scraped away, gradually
Evicting any sort of character the building
Had left, leaving it an empty, lonely husk stood
Shivering and dead, its live ancestors ripped
Away from it. It looked so sad. The porch
Drooped under its own weight, and all its
Windows lay shattered on the ground like
Tears. I walked up to the door and gently
Pushed it open. The hinge gave a raspy
Groan and gave way, and the door fought
Against the frame as it screeched in pain on
The way down, tearing even more paint away
On its way down. I apologised under my breath
As it came to rest on the ground, a small cloud
Of dust settling just as quickly as it had risen.
I looked up past the ocean of scattered cans
And smashed glass down the hallway. I closed
My eyes, breathed in, and walked exactly eight
Steps forward before turning right, arms at my
Sides, and walked into the living room. I opened
My eyes again and walked to the window, and
Bent down to pick up the faded curtains. I wiped
The glass away as if I were drying the house’s
Eyes, softly and slowly. I patted the curtains
And choked on the dust before folding them
Neatly, creasing along the edges. I picked them
Up over my shoulder, nestling into them like
A small duckling to his mother, and I carried them
Out of the room and into the hallway, eyes
Closed and breathing in the musty smell of the
House deeply through my nose. The damp in
The air caught in my throat and met the wave
Coming from my stomach and I choked; my
Eyes welled up and it felt like I was drowning
In the past, under the weight of this place and
I shuddered as I walked past the first bedroom.
My eyes were closed, but I could feel it, could
Never forget it; the same dip in the floorboards
Told me where I was headed.
I dumped the curtains in front of the door to
The boiler room. I pulled the door open, and
Somehow it managed to stay on its hinges.
I yanked the main gas line from the wall and
Straight away a soft hiss came from the
Valve; I sighed, the corners of my mouth
Creeping up. I ran to the garage, my nostrils,
The smell of methane being replaced with a
Dull, woody dampness. I picked up the jerry
Can of petrol that was still half full on the
Shelf in the corner that my dad had never
Once touched, or grasped with his fingers,
Or firmly held on the sofa while my mother
Lay unconscious…
I ran back inside, my hands around the can
Like a vice, and drenched the curtains in the
Contents. The smell of petrol and natural gas
And musty furniture was exhilarating, almost
Orgasmic. My smile grew and grew until I
Laughed quietly to myself, the sound being
Absorbed by the crumbling walls. I trailed it
Out the door, spinning and jumping as I
Hopped over broken floorboards and danced
Around empty cans and bottles. I came to a
Stop about six steps from the porch, and
Tossed the jerry can out of the way, flung it
As far into the distance as I could manage,
And in that moment I felt like the most
Powerful being in the world, capable of
Crushing mountains and draining seas and
Burning down houses.
I took out a match from the box of thirteen
In my pocket, and struck it against the
Jagged side, smelling the aroma of arson
As it burned. I looked at the wretched
Thing before me for one last time, before
I dropped the match. The trail blazed hot
Next to my ankles and flowed into the house,
And I watched the fucker burn to the ground
And I smiled. I smiled the biggest fucking
Smile I’ve ever smiled, and I turned my back
On the ash of the grave of my past and looked
Forward. But the heat blistered my back.
Still, I move forward,
And the skin always heals.