I don’t think you care that daddy had too many drinks that night. His intoxicated soul enwrapped me with bruises and scars that will never go away.
I don’t think you care that ***** got locked out of my room, and I feel more guilty than everyone because I was not there to protect her.
I don’t think you realize that my biggest insecurity is labeled with a capital DAD entangled in my toxic heart.
Who said dads were supposed to be there for you?
My dad was at the kitchen table telling us to eat or else.
My dad was the dad who would rather chose a bottle of Gin over his family.
My dad was the one who lit the fire in my lungs, clattering up the debris, making it hard to breathe.
In all honesty, I never really learned how to breathe.
I was taught by hyperventilating cries, red puffy eyes, where everyone lies, to black and blue oceans covering up my spine
I was taught by a collision in my brain, because I can’t help the dagger that’s stuck way too deep from misfortunes and misdirections.
I was taught that no one but myself could be trusted because sooner then you know it, you might be the one jumping off the edge.  
Even with all the alcoholic rivers leading up to my room, from all the red stains flowing down my limbs.
Flows.
Did you just enjoy the flow of the venom that you injected into your veins?
Did you enjoy becoming a monster?
Did you enjoy the river flow that with every wave drowned us a little more.
Did you enjoy never becoming my father.