I drink. tonight.
and scream- as if the stars are listening.
I want to write my father a letter.
and tell him.
that I can hold my liquor
better than he ever held me.

and I ask meekly.
that you- 'don.t stop loving.me'
even though. I'm often wondering
if you even started.

I want to write on under-the-bridge walls.
and scribble on bathroom stalls.
that I have nothing but my glass and my pen.
both of which- are running a little on the empty side
and I want to kiss my soul with vodka lips
and drink to remembrance.
here's a toast. father, dear. I never loved you.


and I want to scream- in symbolic metaphors
that poetry is useless. because we're all going to die.
and I'm hoping one day- I can forget _you.
and start living. for -me.

so don't ask for your forgiveness-
because retribution is for the weak. and I'm a stronger man
without you. so walk on. high horse on your back
down that golden road- and hope the reflection
doesn't blind you.

because if you never see me again. I want
this last image in your head.


that this is me.
done- with you.

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