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My dad is enslaved to what we call addiction,
bound by failure and petty temptation.
Once a great man of high reputation,
now just a drunk , choosing foggy sensations.
I have never been beaten, nor been abused,
merely a victim to emotional misuse.
No broken bones nor ripped skin tissue,
Only a heart that’s continually bruised.
He ignores my pain like a crack that’s not there,
He pretends my tolerance isn’t about to tear.
If only he would notice that the love we once shared,
Was lost long ago, like a balloon in the air.
Once retained by this chosen disease,
Love seems so lost like a ship in the sea.
My dad once saw the hope inside me,
But alcohol must have been better than me.