Another Drink

Alcohol wasn’t brought about to abuse it,

It was brought about for fun.

She doesn’t see; she just sits there,

Drink, after drink, after drink.

It hurts me, when I can see it coming, 

Just by the way she slurs her words.

It hurts me because I love her more than coffee on a cold morning,

She gave me life, now all I see is her drinking to the bottom of another cold can. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741