the porcelain feels cold
against my skin
i dont know whether
this is real
or a dream
but i do know that i am on the floor
and that my throat stings
with the painful regret
of lasts nights haunting

this is not who i am
but is my forefathers before me
so therefore
it is the ace that stares back at me in
the mirror
lifting its cold arm
liquid to mouth
regret to sorrow

my father would be proud of
his youngest
undoubtedly his smartest child
following pace by pace
in his deep footsteps
his serpent eyes would
reflect off the glass
that i am bringing to  my mouth

and he would laugh
like he's done a thousand times
because in the morning i wont know who i am
my name will be a lie
and i will regret every decision
i have ever made

he will use this time to escape
like his own fathers before him
and he will place the blame
and pass his pain
onto anyone
especially a child

and he will be scared to stray-
to confront
so he continues to march
in the footsteps
that even precede
him

the porcelain feels cold
against my skin
and i can feel it
and i can feel my throat
and i choose feeling
over the comfort
my forefathers have chosen before me
before ME