Sometimes, when I'm sitting and brooding,
in whatever point of space that I have designated to contaminate with my being,
I can hear you and mom fighting,
The fear in your screaming and the suffering in her's.
The nights I got home to find you passed out on the couch,
with a shoe lace drooping out of your purse,
were always followed by days of watching mom fight to hold back tears.
I felt helpless on the sidelines of a war I couldn't comprehend,
a war you decided to wage because dad died and you couldn't handle it.
I can't handle it still,
and I really can't handle seeing mom cry,
so all those fights, all those words you intended to pierce her like the needles piercing you,
are still ringing in my ears.
Dare meant no drugs at school,
At home Dare meant ****** and threats of suicide.
Our sister watched your descent with disgust,
steeled her heart against all of her emotions,
warping her into an academic superstar
with no time or patience for you or me.
Our family was fragmented over your war,
so I smashed a mirror into pieces,
to try and glue back the fragments,
but it always came out so ugly,
so I knew what we would look like,
if we could just get some ******* glue.
It's been ten years,
and you're still on the ground
frantically searching for some glue
to piece back your own mirror.
It's been ten years,
and I can still see you
kicking the windshield of mom's car,
passed out on the couch head between your knees,
mom crying in your room begging you to just calm down.
You were training me to hate you,
when you waged a war against our mother,
now you've lost your only brother.
It's been ten years,
and I can still feel the hatred and resentment
flare up inside of me
sometimes, when I'm sitting and brooding.
Wrote this the 26th, enjoy!