Jen Juice

A single cell of rigor mortis has set in my sentiment
For the way you induce suffering
Blocking the wreckage and the dismay (of you)

Bleeding heart to hurt others
Sick and sick as can be
And I don’t know what’s worse
Alcoholism or your attachment –
To your noose
of the narcissist that you won’t set free

that has a hold of your shaking
hands that
won’t stop till you dose yourself
with your whiskey and the thought
to not belong

hurt others
so you can feel the company
of the hell that you enable
the miles of hatred and anger
of your song

The laceration of your untruths cut so deep
Not letting it go
And cradle
Like the whiskey in your eyes
Drowning soul
Of a lost boy reaching
For his death
in depths
Of the good riddance bottled
up with his derelict..

A hope that we can only wish
The prison he has built will
Save him from himself
And surrender his golden heart
From this heart-wrenching disease
And sickness.

This entry was posted on May 9, 2012 at 2:21 PM and is filed under Jencerpts.. with tags Alcoholics, loss, Poetry, Seperated. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.