Bitter sweet tastes; daddy
My spirits grasped by livers,
treading upon broken glass
of hope; twisted body tilting
towards floor tiles, gathering
momentum from the stomach
rumbles; lunch appears before
my eyes, swimming within
a clear bottled liquid.
My son gazes at me with
denial; yet what can I say?
Nothing can drown the
past like a vodka smirk.
he hurts, yet what can I do?
Nothing tastes better than
A romance with wine;
Advice given from labels,
a percentage of truth is spoken
yet the volume speaks louder
With every glass downed
Spread on the floor, with a
friend of deception lying
next to me for southern
comfort; screams mix
with frustration as I try
to speak my mind, while
only intoxicated attempts
at words seem to be born
Ryan walks out of my grasp,
never to trust, never to utter
a word to the face of the man
who took his childhood away
with a sip of dirty water
We are all born with the fatal
disease of death, I guess I just
chose to inject myself a little
quicker through addicted lips
Writers note: my dad was an alcoholic, it really affected me in a lot of ways, its probably been the single most damaging sight I’ve seen in my life, witnessing a man that I really didn’t know up until a few years ago when he actually started to bring himself back to a little bit of normality just killing himself sip by sip; So I figured I’d write one of my most real poems I’ve ever wrote, in the tone of speaking my visions of those days through his mouth. Hope you enjoy.
-Poeta