I thought everything was clean
Not when you’re a dry drunk
Things aren’t what they seemed
I only desire the calm, live like a monk

I thought everything was okay
Souls all around me, cleansing together
Not with a dry drunk, not today
I don’t know what’s going to happen, how do you capture

I thought I knew what was going on but I’ve fallen
Down in the well, feels like a freezing hell
Sitting there minding my own but the sadness just has to crawl in
Oh, well from what I hear I can’t dwell

I thought you were going to do better
I think a lot of things, most of them not still but racing
I write to you sometimes in my poems that become letters
My heart constantly pacing and my mind repairing itself and tracing

I thought you loved yourself and me
Dry drunk, no role model
I feel like a book falling apart by the seem
You always find yourself at the bottom of a bottle

I thought you had more to offer
And you do, you’re not always the dry drunk
God watches over you and I love her
A sense now of belonging, good luck.

Maybe one day I can tell you how I feel
Maybe one day I can tell you the truth
Maybe one day I can stand up, stare you in the eyes, and tell you how much I hate your shadow
He slurs, he stumbles, he doesn't know his own strength
Maybe I can tell you how he makes me sick, makes me sob, makes me so angry I start to shake and the lump grows and grows in my throat until I scream and tear myself apart on the inside, always the inside
Maybe one day I can tell you about him, your shadow
And then maybe one day you will remember how I hate him so and have it make a difference
I don't care how sorry you are
I do, okay, although I wish not to
But it doesn't matter, does it? It doesn't matter how much you love me, love us, it doesn't matter how much you're grateful for how we put up with him, it doesn't matter if you've tried before
I'm so tired
I'm so tired of being here
Maybe one day,
Maybe I can tell you how much of me wanting to go is his fault, your awful shadow
Maybe if you knew how much I wanted to hate you, how much I wanted to make you hurt, you'd see
But I can't
I can't
I can't stay mad
I can't hurt you
I can't hurt you or your shadow.
Maybe one day I can say the truth, and maybe one day you'll listen.

He treats me like a Queen,
Still I can’t help but wonder if he will be like you too
Funny how I am afraid of what he might become yet the most comforting place I’ve ever been is his arms.
I look to him for protection yet I fear him and what he might do,
He’s never given me a reason to doubt him but most of the men from my past life haunt my thoughts, spreading lies like wildfire
I run to him, almost as if being attracted by a magnet, it’s out of my control
I cringe whenever he takes his belt off,
I know he would never hit me yet the memory of leather striking my skin like a whip,
My mother’s hands pounding on the door and her dread-filled screams,
lingers in the back of my mind like a nightmare I cannot escape from
Now that I am older it’s easier to understand she knew what he was capable of,
She had been in my position before,
She never told me as a child because I had this glorified image of him,
He was the first man that seemed like he wanted to take care of us and love us,
I viewed him as a father and even called him Dad
He had just loved his alcohol and cigars more than his love for us
I sometimes start to think about what our future children will look like,
But I stop in my tracks because that evil voice in my head asks “what if he turns out like him”?
Will it always be like this, I fear

Today the breath of life suffocates me
And the poison I poured
Makes me ask
If it is too much.

I feel a shadow in my head
That wants more
A craving
For a taste

Poison used for medicine
To heal by forgetting
And living in present
Without the burden of feeling

What an awful sensation:
The sense of touch;
After holding of another
Is learned,

The body never forgets,
And the only thing
That gives the senses in my skin
Amnesia of touching

Is the poison I pour,
But it’s never enough.

This is the story of Good-Time Tim
That I sit down to tell you today
No matter the weather
No matter the season
This man just wanted to play

And rain always calls for a raincoat
Boots and a hat for good measure
But Tim didn't need any protection from the storm
In the downpour in fact he took pleasure

His father put the pressure on
From a young age expected perfection
So when he grew up he got the hell out of dodge
Moved far away from parental correction

He was always in a drinking mood
Any time of day or night
If you caught him four drinks or more in
Whew! He was quite a sloppy sight!

This is the story of Good-Time Tim
That I sit down to tell you today
No matter the weather
No matter the season
This man just wanted to play

He drank hard alcohol and beer
Without discrimination
Either one would work just fine
For his goal of inebriation

He was a bit too rough on his body
Which is an overly gross understatement
He neglected his health and mental well-being
In reckless pursuit of entertainment

He wasted his life away getting wasted
Never pausing to consider that he might be missing out
Too self-destructive to attract a wife
So a family he chose to live without

This is the story of Good-Time Tim
That I sit down to tell you today
No matter the weather
No matter the season
This man just wanted to play

There was the time Tim broke his shoulder
Falling out of a tree
Because someone bet he couldn't reach the top
A task that proved to be an impossibility

Tim hardly ever brushed his teeth
So they all fell out by age 45
But considering his lifestyle
He was just lucky to still be alive

Surprisingly he was a religious man
Although not one page of the bible did he read
He had heard Jesus turned water to wine
That was all the preaching he'd ever need

This is the story of Good-Time Tim
That I sit down to tell you today
No matter the weather
No matter the season
This man just wanted to play

As he grew old he began to slow down
But not once did he ever regret
The countless mistakes he had made through the years
I guess the ***** made him forget

His liver held up for a very long time
But eventually started to rot
But for Tim it was too late to get sober
So he still swallowed shot after shot

When the doctor gave him his fatal diagnosis
He laughed and said "I'm ready to go
But make sure I'm buried with a bottle
In case they don't serve liquor way down there below!"