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May 2013
Salted words cut with bad intentions,
snorted off the childhood coffee table,
that held more shot glasses,
than black brimming mugs.

****** you up a little,
to peer small eyes over the counter,
daddy passed out
on the kitchen floor.

cigarette stained shirts,
and ***** filled mason jars
tucked beneath lace and cotton
so mommy won't worry,
the habit is in your blood.

Didn't even know that daddy liked
two lines of blow
with his coffee every morning,
****** you up a little, huh?

I'm not one to dwell,
but wait,
yes I am.

Six years since I last saw
your ugly, drunken face
that everyone said
looked so much like mine
'the spittin image'

Shattered glass on tile floors,
from shaky hands after too much Kessler,
Pained stomach,
Heaving into plastic or metal or porcelain
to spill the burdens
of a troubled childhood.
Might ******* up a little
Portland Grace
Written by
Portland Grace  23/F
(23/F)   
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