Hole

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.