The darkest humour,
A comedy
I’m laughing although it is killing me
You watch me bleed, yeah.

Brains don’t feel pain…

Especially daddy’s
When he had a tumour growing in it
Messed up his memory
Also, his sanity

Since then he cannot see
He went completely blind
Nerve cells rarely heal
Especially the ones that run to the eyes

Surprise
For two weeks
He felt it ill
Slight fever with no heat

He felt slightly weak
Then he woke up blind
Everything was dark
His optic nerves his tumour did find


He said everything was black
He flew out of the country
After a month, he came back
He didn’t die, alive was my daddy


Ten years, three months later
I put my pen to paper
I know I wouldn’t remember
‘Cause daddy and I don’t get better.


The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
I am of my father
Dementia: him, schizophrenia: me
Isn’t it a laughter?

That’s my happily ever after...

think my father hates me
or maybe he just detests
the way i trap hearts like flies
and i don't call back, even when they beg
for a chance to be alive again
him & i
we rise together with stormy eyes
and bipolar tendecies

i hate him too
the way he sits there in his unflourishing dependency
on conspiracy theories and how meds will **** me

so we sit in the tint of blue on a couch that's
barely made for two.
the house is now broken down
with ivy trees that can see into my history.
it eats me alive and speaks whispers of things i cant believe.
it says, "baby don't you know... nostalgia is disgusting,
especially when you can't see what i see."
so i ask her what she can see.
ivy. the envious torture of it all. and i leave like i always do. in a pile of ash, guts, and a couple "*******'s"

well,

I thought

dad is supposed to cheer me up,

dad is supposed to bring joy in my life,

dad is supposed to come home from
work
and give me a kiss on my cheeks,

dad is supposed to cuddle and make me feel warm on a cold day,

dad is supposed to make me feel happy,

dad is supposed to listen to my problem and help me,

dad is supposed to fix my flaw and teach me,

dad is supposed to sacrifice himself for me,

dad is supposed to be my hero,

dad is supposed to
love me.

well,
that was what I thought
dads are supposed to be.

I guess I don't have one.

sometimes I hear a baby wailing in public and i wonder how and why adults never get to break down like that


and then I remember how i sobbed when i got the call that my dad died


and now i can't breathe again

the root was missing,
but paired with the grand prefix,
depicts all I need.