F**k the Day

poem to my father who seem's to have forgotten his 3 off spring exist.

Let me start with a how are you?

After all, you're a stranger

and that's what strangers do.

Matter of fact, f**k that

I'm not too concerned with you

My brothers on the couch passed out, fucked up

Little sister endlessly paying her dues

we're all out here struggling

Katrina's shop lifing shoes

Michael's going manic 

And no body seems to care

he's steady living homeless

can't afford to cut his hair. 

So here I sit useless

and I'm off drugs, no excuses

I'm sad and cant cry

I hope I don't die

please don't ask why

I try and I try

And you don't see

you don't care

you're not there

you're not here

go away 

or stay

either way

f**k the day

you decided to be a father.