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His words slur together like muddy snow,
Whole body acting in slow motion
As if in sludge.
I hate that empty gaze,
The constant blinking that tries and tries to wipe the fog from the brain.
He stumbles, piggy eyes focusing for a second on the bottle
As he pours it,
A waterfall of blood cascading into his glass.
Head tipped back,
Eyes shut tight in satisfaction,
Body relaxing as it courses through his veins.
Where is the man who could talk to me for hours on end,
Eyes twinkling with intellect,
Where is the man who held me when I cried,
His tears mixing with mine because he hated to see me hurt.
I am tired of screaming at him, lungs filled with bitter air
My words as sharp as daggers but still not piercing his thick skin of denial.
I am tired of the excuses, and pleading, and empty promises
That veil his demons
At least for a little while.
He tells me, “Who do you think you are? Its none of your f***ing business,”
It’s funny how he thinks I like to catch him,
Bottle in hand,
Choosing booze over loved ones.
He thinks, in his delirium,
I enjoy staring down at my brother’s round blue eyes as they whisper “What’s wrong with Daddy?”
Hot tears streaking my cheeks,
I drive him home,
Red anger consuming me.
And even when the anger leaves,
It still hurts,
My body flung between emotions
I want to see him shamed,
To wallow in guilt and self loathing
To pay for his actions.
I want him to feel the pain he has caused us all.
I want justice.
But most of all,
I just want