Blood

I wonder, with my thumb nail scratching against my index, if im better then them.

I drink, and I smoke. It is a vice. Sometimes I kiss, if my sore little soul can cling to someone long enough for them to leave without an aching remain.

Like an old broken bone. It clicks, and doesnt extend fully, but its healed.

Thats what being left feels like.

My mother tells me if I drink the six pack I bought she's sending me to rehab,

so I enjoy the high while it lasts. Wonder with a bitter sip that makes me gag how I can manipulate my way out of this one.

I am scattered across my family line. I drink like my father's side, I have my eldest brother's eyes, I have the other's wit.

I have the madness in the head of both sides.

I drink until the madness satiates, and rev my rage for the morning battle against my mother.

Blood shall shed, and it is all the same blood.