I found my father at the bottom of the bottle,
my mother hidden on the other side of the mirror,
I found my torment in those I kept close
I watched as they nailed their own hands to the cross.
I sport a meaningless smile
sarcasm is just a defence
I lay awake at night
let my mind fight the silence.
As an author, I started writing their excuses.
Like an archeologist I dug up deeper meanings.
Like a doctor, I stitched up the wounds.
As a poet, I used words to mask the truth.
Oh how lucky some are that I am my worst enemy.
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