lisdexicwriter

Life spins and twist on a dime
slipping I slide into an all to familiar groove
up and out I crawl down deeper
into the valley we all forgot to name

pain tastes
like home
love tastes
like home
anger is a weak excuse
for a friend

So, whistle in the graveyard
dance at my wake
I slipping of this morbid way
before it takes me to the lake

Fucking, eating, sleeping, shitting
they all taste like home.