It feels like home...

This melancholy has soft spots, for those poems I see as traps— where once I've devoted myself to a familiar place, memories and feelings That I misplaced. Countless times of starless skies— wishful midnights, flirting with death. Taking Life's undeserving rights. Hollowed chest, as I hid the broken parts of a heart they once cherished— then they seek for what's already perished.