I don’t touch that bottle
my father’s finger prints are permanent,
Sometimes he’d mistake my neck for a bottle.
They say the Skyy is the limit,
but he didn’t think that was enough.
Blood brothers with Jack,
Intoxicated visions of him being Daniel
In a lions den, I remember vividly
as he got up from his throne, and slammed the door
Lying telling me he’d be right back.
Every attempt my mother took to turn her back
He’d whip it.
Repeatedly, Repeatedly, Repeatedly
Cries like a broken record,
he’d leave with a satisfied appetite of affection.
We had covered all mirrors in the house,
and a transparent reflection.
We were only dependents
with no sense of declaration.
Longing to be rescued,
but cowardly courage was always a distraction.
No ends to support our means.
No knowledge of definitions,
Love was pain
and Love was what we longed for,
so our only option was to remain.
He was raping our personalities.
We were no longer people,
but soon to be fatalities.
And we were.
On the anniversary of my birth,
he turned the station wagon into a hearse,
and while he was driving,
he was trying to decipher his reality from his wishes
and as the vehicle was swerving,
I threw up regret, and —
I woke up.
At last, the truth was revealed
the world was finally upside down,
like I had always thought it’d been.
I remember rounds of hollow tips
were fired into the vacancy of my chest,
but in my dream I had mistaken the sound of my mothers screams for bullets.
On the anniversary of my birth…
My father killed my Mother,
My mother gave birth to my baby Brother,
and God taught him how to fly,
before my father stripped him of his wings.
So when I woke up,
My father presented me with an upside down cake,
and with out saying any words,
he looked me deep past my eyelids,
wiped my eyes,
and said ‘Happy Birthday’.
There is no limit to Skyy,
No better friends than E&J,
No Better Amo than Yeager-bombs,
No better Freedom than Death.