We're Burning in the Melting PotA Poem by justAnumberAnother story of alcoholism.
The man wants peace, so he takes up a piece
the wife wants love, the message goes to the dove the mother wants a son, he says put down the gun the devil wants a deal, oh how does it feel? Everybody goin to the party, lets do it up good, the man will be there, he'd drink more if he could, turns into a masquerade, eneubreation is the mask, forget there is a life of problems, its the current task. So easy to make fun, so hard to step up, no fun in everyday, but fun in the cup, he runs from responsibility, but running in place, theres shame and humility, you can see in his face. Home is the best place to go, but the worst place to be, the wife realizes, as quick as can be, overwhelmed, but wont admit defeat and knows of the dangers, tells man to mature his thoughts, now far from the manger. standing close but says no words, like strangers in line, lost in place, lost her space, 'without you ill get mine,' gotta go, hurry and wait, just in the nick, the deepest cuts, labeled as bumps, just a little prick. Weapons of mass destruction come in many forms, nicotines, alcohols, nuculears and chloroforms, aiming the bottle at her head, begging for attention, i drink to be happy, 'thats not what i meant, son.' Poison to the liver, disappointment to the rest, no remains of the first, settle for second best, death of a salesman, life of a hero, strength of the brethren, look past the tears though. Always a knife in the back,on the easy way out, you can see the right path, but you're on another route, sell your soul, satan's SOULdier, seems peachy now, the fun fades, and pain sets in, soon you'll wonder how. Putting all of your cash in the devil's offering, material things become spoiled little offspring, trying to buy happy, losing everything that matters, but the more expensive gun wont change how blood spatters. © 2010 justAnumberReviews
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3 Reviews Added on September 2, 2010 Last Updated on September 2, 2010 Author
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