I'm back in the hole
my parents threw me out of.
I'm back in the place I learned:
to rot, to fade, to decay away.
My parents don't like this feeding ground I found.
they say:
"it's bad for your health".
They don't like my home,
because I've died in it.
I've died in the place of "home".
I'm the ghost,
haunting their spacious home.
They dont like the hole I've dug,
because it's marked as my holding grave.
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Author:
jay scott sterling (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 7th, 2023 16:50
- Comment from author about the poem: woo poetry during a uh. not fun time. ok byeee
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
Comments1
This is self indulgent and I am left wondering at the purpose.
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