I use to think, to believe, that pain was the foundation
that happiness and flowers were a fairy tale;
Words I read on a page, that made no sense
trapping me in a whirlwind of pain.
As I grew and began to see the world anew
I realized your sickness, your disease
Alcohol, a vice to others
the voice whispering in your ear.
You hurt me, your inability to see
alcohol was your mistress but what the fuck about me?
Deadened to expectations, accepting only what I could see
my lip curls now in disdain, as I realize;
A man you were not, a father you could never be
a childhood destroyed,
never once an apology.
I spit on you,
your sacred memory.
I hope you burn in hell
accompanied by the demons
who damned you in life.