Tastes good, doesn't it?
The fire burns your throat
as you chug a shot down.
The taste ain't sweet,
but the feeling sure is.
The drunker you get,
the higher you float.

"Can life always feel this good?"
The answer's no,
but you refuse to accept it.

Travis and Charlie were the best of
friends,
They shared the interest of Fireball and Gin.
They adored dressing up in alleyways and pretend,
That they were Princes and the next of Kin.

Travis fell putrid with the nullifying of his Liver,
He tried to Coax the Prince but he chucked.
The Prince turned his back on Travis' Treason River,
Lost himself in the memories in a bottle corrupt.

The tragic dismay that followed suit,
Electrified junkies and liars alike too.
Travis dressed up in his Sunday best;
To see his once best friend laid to rest.

Next time I hope you bite your tongue
To save you from making yourself look like a fool
Because I wasn't the one to drink my self stupid tonight
I wasn't the one to ignore my child's problem for an overpriced drink
No, I'm sorry can you hold
Your hands
Cause all my life
I was told never bite the hand that feeds
But the thing is that was never the case
You don't feed
Your hands are to busy
Sending messages that make no sense
Incoherent
To busy flicking a light to pollute the lungs
To busy cracking a can to poison your
Liver
No your hands  were too busy to feed
Because while I was alone hopeless and crying because a  illness in which you neglect
You were out drinking and celebrating
"Hey we made it to today, now let's poison ourselves more"
See your freshly polished fingernails
And heavy ice wrist
Weren't made for feeding
So I'll bite your hands
Because there always busy doing something that doesn't involve me
Your child
Your only daughter
I am the one who locks myself in my room
I am the one who cries and thinks
"I'm not enough, I'll never be enought"
While you drink
And you smoke
And to put it simply
While you make your insides rot faster
No your hands were to busy trying to care for yourself
Your lousy self
Now your hungover and those small sounds I make
Make you scream and shout
"Shut up, be quite"
I'm sorry I haven't ate all day to busy chasing thoughts that swarm in my head
"It's not my fault you don't eat"
Really, cause I see that Chinese two boxes, none for me
Yet here I am trying to eat
I'm sorry I'm a basic ******* human being
Who needs **** like shelter and food
Just to ******* live
And your to busy supporting bad habits to even
Provide basic **** for me
And to me
An alcoholic doesn't exist
At least not with parents
An alcoholic is a person who's love for alcohol stems far greater than the love for their child.

You’ve already taken,
all that I had.
My ambition, my drive,
even my dreams have turned bad.

I can’t keep doing this,
you're killing me ya know.
It took a long time to realize,
I was out of control.

I thought you were helping,
at first it was fun.
You helped me relax,
but I have to be done.

Some days I don’t miss you,
and others it’s hell.
I wish I could forget you,
but I miss your smell.

How can you be so seductive,
and dangerous too?
And why don’t I seem normal,
unless I have you?

Today is bad,
I need you I think.
My brain won’t shut up,
and sanity’s on the brink.

You intoxicate me,
you literally do.
I’m wasting away though,
and that’s literal too.

So please stay away,
and get out of my head.
Let me live my life,
without so much dread.

Today’s a bad day,
I’ll try to be strong.
I think I can do it,
but I don’t know for how long.

Existing in a house with an alcoholic isn't quite existing. It's tiptoeing around corners and walking on broken glass. It's waiting for the bomb to drop with the closest shelter miles out of reach.

I try to shed my skin but it sticks like glue. It covers me in shame and pain and the irreversible smell of ***** and *****.

I don't exist. I just simply am.

I am the daughter of a drunkard.

I am covered in guilt.

I am.

I mold myself to fit into a box that's half my size. I rip my own words out of my own mouth so I don't hurt the feeling of the people who have mutilated mine.  

I haven't existed yet, but someday I will.

Mother, a specialist has called us,
he believes something is wrong, astray, askew,
but you tell me it's all no reason to fuss.
Mother, your words have caught onto me like the flu.
Mother, you're infecting me to become you.

Father, mother says we cannot go,
to neither the recommended counseling nor therapy,
and for some reason you agree,
but just yesterday you told me,
you resent what she has done to your children.

Mother, I am sorry you have overheard what I've told my dad.
I promise, I never meant to make you sad,
but now you're screaming that I'm glad.
Mother, I do not rejoice!
Please, stop putting these words in my mouth! It is your choice!

Mother, this ordeal can end.
Remember, you were once my friend?
Mother, I know I have grown to fourteen and now I should be more kind and more mature.
Still, you say, I am just mean and for my cold eyes and empty heart, there is no cure.
Mother, your words shape my world, despite my hesitance to believe them.

Mother, I am sorry that I sobbed three years ago because of your screams.
Mother, I am sorry that I turned my back on you while we both fell through countless seams.
Mother, forgive me, please, for I try my best and I am your daughter.
Mother, forgive me, please, for I try my best and I am not my father.

Father, I miss your defense.
But to expect your words in my good chance again is dense.
Father, I have made every excuse I can to make you the favorite parent.
But, father, my lies to myself are apparent.
Father, what happened to the days when your guarded this wretched child of myself from mother's verbal onslaught?
Forever I would have you for forever, I thought.

Father, you will die soon, because you do not care for your body.
Father, I cannot live without you beside me and my family.
Father, protect my brothers and my sisters just a few more years.
Father, don't leave me again yet. You are not him, do not run for a few more beers.

Mother, you brought to me an alcoholic.
Mother, you brought to me his precious child.
Mother, with this baby, now nearly four years old, I still frolic.
My beloved little sister.
But mother, the drunkard threatens to come to us again.
If he tries in court to steal my cherished sister, can we win?

Rapacious alcoholic, with each and every bone in my body, for you, I feel such loathing.

"A slave to your waters,
how I beg to kneel
and drink from you.

I feel so in control and powerful,
when under your influence.

Little do I realize,
how truly powerless I am,
when you're in me.

Under your grip,
with even one sip,
held so tight,
I have no life in sight."