Mom

Inside its muse, The angel spawns, Becoming everything, Of my whispered secrets. In focus I respire, To gather the strength, To fight for what's been lost. In its dream I hide, And covet the lies, Her eyes have always revealed to me, With hands that shake, As they pop that top, My alcoholic mommy. I don’t really know her, Yet sometimes my words, Undoubtedly pretend I do, Maybe if I was bush, Or of Budweiser brand, These words wouldn’t be true. My childhood confesses, In presents at night, That years have been, Silent without her. All remains nothing to accept, When I begin to realize, Maybe I'm simply just a "Natural Light"