The Lake Called Pink

Your name is a lie, and we all know
That you’re not really pink
And probably won’t ever be
Again.
Though that’s to be expected.
20 minutes out of the main town
Driving is now my pass time
Watching as your half burnt ‘grey-ery’
Flies past as the wheels tumble down the road
Filled with flies, they’re Dracula’s miniature army
Sucking your blood like there’s no tomorrow
Or your little bed spiders that stop
You from walking normally
You quiet nights form a moment of peace
The stars shining bright with no air pollution
To drown out their light
Dogs all along the street, wagging their tails
That smack you in the knees
But all in all, Pink Lake, you will always
Be my home.