5 AM Thoughts - PsychologyI look through broken glassI step on crooked cracksI feel with calloused handsand I taste through tainted tongueFragile dreams hold bitter memory.A child lost to snow,and a child lost to the pain of a lost child.And brittle bones hold storiesof whiskey breath and gin and tonic.Of empty scotch bottlessplit open like a skull Yet leaves no scar.I remember rainy daysI forget the bad men of hands heavy with bloodI remember rainy daysand I forget the gaps in my mouth where teeth have fell outDark clouds hold cleansing droplets.Pray to the sky for holy water instead of vodka,and pray to a god that you lost on a road trip. Put your hands in the pockets of your skirtLook up childBut fear confidence I know you lieYour father is a good manYour mother's simply being put in her place.Put your hands in the pockets of your skirtLook down childBut feel confidenceI know you did not mean to lieYour father was a bad manNow tell me the first time this happened.
5 Am Thoughts - Not a True Storyi learned today,from cruel words spit in between black teeth,that "sorry don't bring a dead boy home".that please don't raise the dead.and i could recant to youwhat i felt today,as i found myself fold from the weight on my shoulders,from the pain in my heartlike an anchor.but i won't.because i'm the last.i'm the final.and i promised mama thati'd be her redemption.that i wouldn't be another crooked line.another mess she madeanother mess she bore on her hipswith scarsthat hold gently the stories,that she calls through pale whiskey breath,mistakes.
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