Make yourself smaller
And smaller
And
Smaller
Until
You  disappear
Because maybe then
When you slip through
Your fathers fingers
It isn't because
He wasn't holding onto you
In the first place.

The age of trembling hands and
mediocre melodies tasting
Of cigarette smoke.  
Scribbling sorrows on paper in pencil,
Too afraid to make mistakes you can't erase.
Stumbling across pieces of the past,
Forgetting they used to matter
White paint splatter -
running down the walls of yesterday.
stopping in the tomorrow's as if happiness cannot remain present
In the present and only exists in fading memories.

You thought Growing up would rid the monsters
Not show them as a reflection in the mirror.