every time i swallow, it goes down a little easier,
just like it was when i started drinking.
my tongue feels bloated, every word i try to utter
comes out twisted and boiling.
but it gets easier, every time i swallow.
my throat is coarse and it feels awful to try and beg
for any kind of help.
but it gets easier and easier to swallow.
my teeth are charred and inked red, a grin fit for the Reaper
to come and take away.
but now it hardly ever bothers me.
at this point it's easier than ever.
drinking.
swallowing all this tar,
all this putrid rage,
all this blood.
it's all the same.
i swore I'd never turn out like you, dad.
well, i guess i didn't.
now i drink five times harder.
now i hate ten times more.
i guess, after all,
it was your blood i kept swallowing.
