Alcoholism,
They tell me it runs in my family.
That it kills every single one of us that it takes over,
That its our own curse and nightmare,
That its a silent death.
They tell me to stay away from it,
So that I dont become like Aunt Andy,
Who is an alcoholic,
With her life spiraling down the drain.
Or like Great Uncle Bill,
Who died before I was born,
Of liver cancer,
Because of alcohol.
They say that if I don't go near it,
Then I'll be fine.
What is it?
A rabid dog?
The smell of the poison,
It calls me in,
Like a Siren would a Sailor.
It puts me in a trance.
They tell me to never start,
To never go near it.
I'm already at its door.
They say its in our genes.
They've told me this for years.
I always figured that someone spilled beer on their jeans,
Apparently not.
Apparently we have what they call a "predisposition",
To the silent killer.
Why did they always call it the silent killer?
Drunks aren't silent at all.
My daddy warns me,
And begs me to stay away,
And to not get involved,
But there's already a burning want for it.
The burn as it trickles down your throat,
And then the buzz you get in the back of your head.
Maybe just one drink,
What will that hurt?
Thats how it always starts,
In my family at least.