He drank
to keep the pain away.
It was cliché...
but it was his only coping mechanism.
He drank
to forget about his father's anniversary,
of the day
he well and truly left him,
after months of
pain and suffering.
He drank
to blur the image
of his mother's face
as she kisses,
instead of her husband,
another bottle goodnight.
Strange,
he despised her for it,
but now he's doing it too.
Like mother like son,
I guess.
He drank
to forget about his sister,
who wanted to save the world,
but wouldn't stick around to save him.
He drank
so he could forget the ice cold
of the one and only night
he spent at the orphanage.
He drank
because even though he loved his new family,
he hated himself.
He drank
because he met a girl,
and she wouldn't leave
like everyone he loved had.
So he had to make her hate him too,
because he didn't want her to choose to leave him too.
So he left her out in the raging storm,
because he believed
it to be better than his broken,
leaking home.
He drank,
and wiped away all the things that could remind him of her,
but he couldn't wipe away
the look on her face,
as if she hated herself
not him.
YOU ARE READING
A bundle of poetry about everything stuck in my head.
PoetryHello! This is some poetry I've written ever since I met him. Sometimes it's sad, sometimes it's happy. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Kind of like us. It's like slam poetry, so don't expect a rhyme scheme. Okay, lovies. Hope you enjoy...
