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Father, Father

The liquid form of my pain stream down my pale complexion,
as I slam my fist into my reflection.

Glass shatters, falling to my feet as I scream;
This feels like a horrible dream.

It's now I begin to realize; My father is not coming back for me.
My heart beat may now cease.

Or shall I let it continue on in a broken beat?
I fall to my knees. It hurts too much; this feeling of defeat.

My father chose his bottles and his mistress;
Does he even miss me? Does he hear my calls of distress?

Tell me please, I need to know...
Why did you have to go?

Now, In more ways than one, I realize he is gone. It feels as If he was never there.
Like an imaginary man tearing my limb by limb, with a bloodshot glare.

You do not deserve the title, “Father”.
I apologize, for being such a bother.

I continue on, loosing focus on reality each day;
Thinking about you and what I could have done to keep you from slipping away.

My mind always trails off, resorting to my broken memory.
This feeling, It makes me weary.

This poem is drenched in pain, my eyes threaten tears;
I will always remember you, but I will also remember the pain my heart took in my younger years.

So long, Wherever you are.
I hope you think of me every time you see a bright star.

Here is a torn tribute to my father.
From the heart of his broken daughter.



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