Your rocking chair tip slowly back and forth,
Hair messy and wine stained lips with an all to familiar gaze.
Cold, lifeless, drained.
With your speech slurred and muffled ramblings of:
"Can you bring your dad back?"
We did our best to carry you inside and give you the same care and love that only he could provide.
As you stumble aimlessly around the bathroom floor tuning out the please of your children to simply get up,
What is left of my heart is swept away like sand beneath the tides.
Hours pass, torn apart novels, tipped over tables, and a paper bag tossed into the woods containing every pill and packet of Benson and Hedges in sight,
You finally rest.
Your breathing raspy with the occasional mutter of words and sudden cries of agony and sorrow,
I hear you utter his name.
Those seven letters that still send chills down my spine,
The failed excuse of a replacement for the man that I once knew.
I reassured you it was only me in your bed,
Not the monster who pushed you over the edge.
-C h a r l i e