I flew home to that city of ghosts from years prior,
The walls in every room glared at me as if I was some broken thing,
I was never broken, merely trying to fix myself,
So I drove all night, passed streets where I once stumbled home,
Back when my winters were a fistful of pills
and a bottle in my back pocket,
Back to those years where the demon inside burned like the liquor,
And he screamed his song from within my ribcage,

I remembered all the memories I laid to rest,
They left postcards in the mailbox of my childhood home,
I wished to go back to the heat of the south,
Where my body would sweat every time I moved,
And all the things inside me past due would float into the air,
I was happiest there,
So I’ll leave the corpse of my younger years up in Baltimore
And fly home to Baton Rouge