Poetry

Drink

I used to see you as a saint,

As though none could compare to you,

I favored you over my best friends, my brother

Over the ones who would see me through,

Oh, but now that's buried in the past

What, like your shameful affairs?

Like your unspoken glares?

Like your own father, turned to ash, for whom I no longer care?

And what did you expect after the times you betrayed her?

Did you think she wouldn't be hurt,

And label you a traitor?

Did you think she could easily heal

Her already bleeding heart?

And avoid tearing

Her melded family apart?

Well, you were right.

All that's left is shadowed disdain,

Although we can hardly stay sane,

With all of your bombastic claims,

Countless relationships slain,

So, he's just a broken man?

No.

Because he never had to worry about where he was going sleep at night,

Or the next time his mother would snap

And drag you in

And usher you out of another fight

But of course now he says that it isn't right

And he never said a thing about placing the blame on his daughter

For a now buried war that he "fought for"

Against an unstable woman whose hazy, drunken footsteps he foolishly followed

Now all that's left is a charred, lifeless ember; a hollow

Of everything we used to be.

When I used to be so blind I couldn't see,

Didn't think,

About the aftermath

When you grabbed another drink.