Watch, I sprawl out on this family quilt

Hoping to hide all of the threads of guilt.

My mother calls me down for the Friday night prayer

And I say it, even though I know God's not there.

A family photo stays preached on the table

In an attempt to fix the nuclear label,

Even though the father left long ago

Chasing a dream of adventure and dough,

But not before slitting the family's wrists

By choosing to abandon his words for his fists.

In his wake, he left fatal rips and tragic gashes

And they crudely closed them to please the masses,

But the son's seams were just a little too loose

And he couldn't recover from the constant abuse.

At sixteen he packed up his things and he vanished

Leaving his bruised family further damaged.

He spiraled down into drugs and booze,

Each drink and each hit tightening his noose.

So the mother and daughter stretched to patch holes,

But it was too mcuh for their tired souls.

The mother threw herself into her work so deeply

That she learned to forget that she was feeling so weakly.

And the daughter focused on a perfect tomorrow

In an attempt to block out her growing sorrow.

The skeletons in her closet became her best friends.

She built up a wall of anger, odds, and ends.

Everyone she met, she held at odds length-

She thought that the solitude would give her strength.

She slept with some guy because she feared he would leave

And she downed shots of vodka because she wanted to believe

That things couldn't possibly get any worse

And one day someone would break her curse.

It's alright. If you squint, the quilt still looks okay

As long as you stay a good distance away.