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I don't really know what constitutes a broken home, seeing as I've never considered my house one. I don't pretend like my dad has alchohal problems or that my mom got evicted or my brother died or any s**t like that: None of it would be true and I don't like to lie about s**t like that. But I do know this much...

A home that is whole should be one that the people who live inside of it don't have to fear that they're folks are gonna freak out becasue of something they overhear as you mumble, disgruntled, into your ******** pillows at night, crying and wishing that you'd drop dead and die. A home ain't a home until it can be made whole and as long as one ********' person brings bitterness in with them it's a body that's missing a soul; But I guess that shits the ********' norm now, ain't it? Only room left in the world for sinners, no saints: Might need a couple to excorcise my demons that are rampaging through my skull and tearing my memories apart with this god-damn verbal assualt. s**t man, I don't know where to turn now that my momma's gone away and I feel the need to rage through my days as a mental criminal, dreaming up s**t that nobody should ever. Guess thats how it is In my house. Any kids reading this, you living like this? Get the ******** out!

I don't know if the fact that I don't know when I'm gonna be happy again to hear my front door opening again makes my home broken or that my dad ain't here to get me through this s**t makes my house broken. All I know is that it doesn't work, and that genrally qualifiees as 'broken.'