Michelle
I'm sorry for all the hell you put up with,
as I was being dragged for "witch craft"
by those in-articulate one track puppets
doing their best to bury war-weary me.
We'll watch horror films on Shudder,
a distraction from the stomach cancer,
window closed & the shutters,
as I buried myself in your lap as I lapsed.
I wish you could see six day sober me,
still lingering on to your jumper's scent.
I sleep with it tucked to my chest
Your struggles I wish were mine all the least.
Your father doesn't mind, when I open
up your broken child-hood window,
cradle in your bed from the 90s
to finally fall to you this time...
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