Clay Pigeons

I think, at one point,
I might have loved it here...
But now,
I'm too soft-hearted, too broken
To get by in this city.
I miss home-
The pull to go back
A constant ache.
I originally left for evergreens,
That I didn't even want,
But I found a new home,
Both in green boughs...
And eyes.
But here we are now,
With me surrounded by blue skies,
And eyes,
And all I can think is:
I'm tired of dying inside.