I am a man divided. Divided and seeking nothing more than to stand firmly in place in a place that I can call home, and they say that home is where the heart is, and I don't know about you, but my heart is in me, so that means that I must be my own home, but as a man divided, this renders my home divided against itself and according to scholars "a home divided against itself cannot stand," so how am I to stand firmly in place in a place for me to call home when the one place I can call home can't stand firmly enough for me to stand at all?
I'm not asking for the cloths of Heaven. I'm only asking that you give but a single penny for my thoughts because I'm here literally screaming at the top of my lungs without uttering a single solitary sound because the voices that are constantly boggling and bouncing around my tortured mind can never seem to leave, and while they echo incessantly in this cavernous dome sitting atop my shoulders, they grow louder and louder and angrier and angrier until my head all but explodes and leaves you covered in the mismatched chunks of every grievance I've ever crammed into my over stuffed mental cahiers, and even then, even after spewing every last morbid thought and disturbance into your tightly shut ears, you still turn your back and make sure to slam my worn maple front door in my face on your way out. I know that you hold the keys to my salvation, but no matter how hard I try, you still refuse to open the pearly gates and lead me along those streets paved in gold that will take me to the peace of mind for which I've so ardently strived for all this time. Instead, you simply raise your thick, calloused palm and metaphorically slap it across my already bruised and bloodied state of mind until all I can hear are the Ravens comically circling around my dazed and confused head screeching "Nevermore. Nevermore."