The generation difference between my mother and I. She depended on alcohol as a solitary coping mechanism, and I wrote this after she had told me she was going to quit but relapsed. She is now in total control of herself and her emotions and we are happy, but this was a low moment in our relationship.
Drops from the ocean
burn the eyes red.
Integrity on broken walls,
posts and gunshots
at a memory.
A cheap thrill, a coping mechanism,
An escape of self-destruction
In the winter’s beautiful self-mutilation.
Six times forgiven, and now an apology
For a rattled structure I helped
shake and crumble
on broken floors.
Anonymous hatred boiled up from
Withindepths of the
Mind, dark, afraid corners
that bite the hand that feeds them.
Familial reminders of the broken
chord which rings
bitterly in the
Shadows of
Regret’s eyes, remain hidden
luminously in technological advances
Only to call for the rain,
Which pours the ocean’s drops like a
Non-consensual intravenous
Machine. False
aid, and liquid that will make
no cure for mankind.
I can empathize. Guilt
and integrity will hold hands
And conceive the human,
It’s a damn shame.
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