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activism addiction horror Uncategorized

fuck you, all the same

as the days pile up

flash bulb memories

are what i remember

of the alcoholic father

the alcoholic first husband

the drunken loss of a decade with the blue eyes

it may be a disease but that makes you no less vile as a person

there’s no excuse for

trembling as my dad threw a giant television set out the front door into the yard

stairs turning upside down as the father of my sons headbutted me into submission

for wanting to leave his dysfunctions

threats of handguns and bodybags

that’s booze soaked rage

a blitzkrieg of anger

a pot boiled over

every tea kettle in the world simultaneously

spitting steam

screaming

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