Because yes,
You are the reason I have these problems, these scars on my wrists and thoughts in my head. My unspoken horror in the night, but you used to be the one to read me to sleep. Like a boy with a magnifying glass, you tried to do everything you can to doubt me, put me over the edge and put a suicide to the front of my mind.
It’s not that you’re mean, horrid or cold-hearted
It’s just that you are only as ****** up as the rest of it, but too clever to see.
Myself, too kind to let him show it, because I was the one who stayed,
Who stayed and held your hand
Who removed the knife and wiped the blood away.
But you never noticed me, sitting there on the floor. An ant on the pavement, as the boy with the magnifying glass cowers over, my life in his fragile hands.
You were once my dad, but I fear you have but become a shell of your former self, and unrecognisable memory of a happy man who is covered in grief and layers of dirt in the form of depression, built up long ago from a broken home.
So, no. I can’t blame you.
You and I are in the same sinking ship, but only one can swim and you always got sea sick. Sick of my company, sick of me.
This one is about myself and my dad.
