97 Shawna L.
I remember a man who drank all the time,
who hit my mother and made her cry.
Who always came home late everynight,
and watching my mother slowly die...
I notice a brother who reaches for the bottle,
he says he only does it once in awhile.
Pushing his feelings closer down his throat,
ending his beer with a perfect smile.
I look at my mother and see a shadow,
how unfare her life has been.
and sometimes I see her cry,
and she says she cant wait for the end.
And a daughter I see through the mirror,
so dead, pale, and my eyes are always red.
while I begin to tell myself this is all a dream,
and maybe it would be better if we were all dead.
Its all just a circle, mother and father,
that brings us closer to the end.
Everyday we die in another way,
drugs were the enemies and friends...
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