For F****

Emaciated, sad man.

Your body is ravaged by alcohol,

And you continue to die.

Your coming demise is played out in a slow, lingering suicide.

It is so painful to watch your discomfort.

We all want to help, but…

You have to want it more than life itself.

For in the cure, life is what you will find.

Fresh, clear air will rush in and disperse the cobwebs

That are entangling your sanity.

Poisonous spiders will die from the lack of self destruction

That you so helplessly hate to heap upon yourself.

I hear tears in your voice as you get up to sing.

Your brave front is shadowed by the weary lines of sorrow

That encircle your eyes.

You cringe as we try to comfort you.

You have been hurt beyond measure

To retreat into yourself like you do.

Uncomfortable with human touch,

You prefer your comfort from a bottle.

Some would say, "Get over it!"

But they don’t see it like I do.

They did not grow up with the torment

Of a sick parent like I did.

I am embarrassed for you,

As you tell your lies, and your imagined exploits.

I hurt for the pain that is in every crease

Of your "old too early" face,

And I weep.

Wolfycat10/17/07