Not rewriting my history,
I’m literally illiterate.

Incredibly inconsiderate,
this hypocritical little *****.

Pitiful for a minute when,
it took me years to fiddle in,

addiction being sickness,
self acceptance well equipped with it.

My father always told me,
I was gifted as he lit his hit.

I doubt that I should blame him,
for years of being mixed up with,
*****, ****, and pills
that lead me to these distances.

The people that I miss the most,
are missing from my Christmas list.

They’re dead or still so livid with,
this monster that they’re living with.

Imagine how I feel,
feeling nothing when I witness this.

I can peel an onion
and not tear up with the sniffles when,
the layers are discovered to be
years of unforgiven sin.

I pray the lord forgives me,
but the price of his forgiveness is,
giving up the only life
I like, so what’s the difference?
****.

As anger grew inside,
I threw aside a written list,
of empty, broken promises,
scripted by lost innocence.