Home only existed in my regrets.  So many selfish mistakes.  Twenty-odd years of adolescent adulthood,  Finally growing up was unbearably intoxicating.

I was manic, psychotic,  A thirty-nine-year-old child  Within an expanding universe  Of paranoia, fear and theistic hope.

A universe full of purpose. Everything made sense,  Little could be articulated successfully.  But loneliness became extinct.

The love I had ignored for years stood by me.  Almost all friends and acquaintances melted abruptly  Into the distant past and future.  Sleep was at a premium.