The bottle

My fathers struggle

I pick up the bottle to begin my day
For a brief moment the past fades away
The pain cuts deep like a knife to clay

I pick up the bottle as I begin to feel
Concealing the shame and thoughts that reel
Memories squall through my mind with just ruins left behind

I pick up the bottle to get to sleep
In the midst of being obliterated the guilt begins to creep
For a moment a glimpse into life without the tyrants reach

I pick up the bottle to slowly die
With no care for loved ones or the precious life I’d leave behind
Wrapped up in bitter resentment and distorted lies

One day I may pick up the bottle for the last time

Author's Note

Very amateur , I felt so much and had to express it somehow, this naturally felt like the right outlet and it really helped me to communicate my perception of my fathers problem ... please let me know what I can do to improve thanks