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bess
Poems
Aug 2019
about my father
Whiskey drips from his lips
like an endless stream of lies.
It's bitter, you think.
Like black coffee,
like harsh asphalt,
like the bleach you use
to clean up the mess that
isn't yours.
Are you thinking about the drink
or his lies?
But it doesn't matter;
they both leave the same taste
on your tongue.
#alcoholism
#abuse
#ptsd
#mental
#illness
#recovery
#hope
#depression
#anxiety
Written by
bess
18/F
(18/F)
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