An empty void,
casts blank shadows across the walls.
the pain sinks deep, confusion even deeper.
And here comes the alcohol.

The intentions started well.
Liquid morphine from a tall bottle.
But one turns into two,
And conversations turn to battles.
The fortress walls that go up,
To keep shameful secrets from being tattled.

So young but feels so old.
This is the curse of a beaten and battered soul.
The fear to let go,
That black cloud of memories that hovers in his mind.
To let go means to give up,
And truly be alone.

Plastic bags add to his shame.
Admitting to a mother would deepen his hell.
But here comes the drip, and nothing is the same.

His bed becomes a cell.
The door so hard to open.
A cure that he's been praying for.
Will it ever come? Just keep hoping.

A damp pillow like a ball and chain.
Drifting into sleep,
Where in his dreams the hole is filled, and away goes the pain.


So young but feels so old.
This is the curse of a beaten and battered soul.
The fear to let go,
That black cloud of memories that hovers in his mind.
To let go means to give up,
And truly be alone.