Occupation

I revised a poem I wrote on here a month or so ago, let me know what you think.

We bring the occupation home with us;
Inside our heads the tour
never ends, does it?
We just sit , breathing, and try and fight and feel like
Strangers within our own skin,
Not thinking about what we are doing
we drink, lonely, craving others to
join the occupation of our souls,
as if company could pacify the wounds,
could make the occupation less harsh -
We require “battle buddies” to drink with and watch movies with and
play video games with
inside our occupied
hearts.

We bring the occupation home with us;
Setting up enemy camp inside our rib cage,
within our skulls,
Dwelling in ourselves like aliens, hostile
to our own cause.
Hostile to my cause and
hostile to your cause;
when will we withdraw?
And let our souls live free again?
And let our hearts breathe again?
And let our minds speak again?

If we bring the occupation home with us,
then we never really came home.

I want to be home.