Whiskey & Bruised

Lined With the Salty Truth [stinging]

I remember a time,

a while ago when we could be considered

something oh-so-beautiful.

A time when you used to smile

as if you had no worries in the world —

maybe it was because you were unaware

of the real problems to come.

Of the monster lurking in me.

Scratching. Clawing. Howling.

Trying to be set free.

The times were good

but all good times must come to an end,

no?

That's something my mothered learned

and taught me, when she wasn't cursing my father and I's name.

I can't blame her but really, what does that bitch know?

She was good for nothing, everybody knew it.

Are you good for nothing?

I'm tired of being like him,

I guess we're something different then them.

They were Angry and Dead.

All we are is Whiskey and Bruised.

I'm sure they know which is which by now.