Lost mutt.

I can feel it, slimey, cold and thick against my flesh. The taste, old and stale. I tolerate it. Since so long ago. I would turn and run. Red iron, returning to earth, dimming in its glow. I've been staring at where a soul should be for hours now. I'm searching. But like home, there is none to be found. That's why i do what i do. I want the warmth you have. I dream of what i had, when i look at you. Maybe once, long ago i had a home? Maybe i still do? Maybe I'll find it in someone else?