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.