Adult Child of An Alcoholic

Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls and sunken breasts with bulging waist and wooden legs betray Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking bourbon tweaked philosophies of life begins at forty. The hands that tremble as you tilt the glass that begins another day of Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on lipstick coated leeches who prey on your diminishing breath. Through these wintry days pass faces long past into what was then while with the coming spring ... at last! at last! One can remember and want no more what could never be: a Mother.