Holy Father

Today, we bless this house. It will finally be a holy place to live in--no shadows lurking in every corner--these chants will banish them away. Just let them take care of it. Let them take care of your car accident, your disease, your ungrateful need to take this solemn occasion into a pitiful, gambling sanctuary you can now call a blessed home. And afterwards, you'll fall into the same old bottle that led you to this. Let it pump through your frail and lovely heart. Let it discolor its ruby hue, scorn its delicacy, and make efforts with an aged and rugged one instead.
I'll give up my nights rest for your dying youth. Here, take my wrist and slash it instead. My blood is young and fresh and you need it more.

You've ruined my life. I've witnessed folly and reckless fumbles through unnatural causes. This has been your downfall, this has been my disdain. You've become my responsibility. I treat you like a child because you are one. You freely take up my nights and tears without warning. So much so that I've learned to brew hatred. In my deepest thoughts swirled violent, melodramatic escapes far away from here. But I guess now this is supposed to all go away.

These are more than just 20 string bracelets that tie around my wrist. They're hopes and blessings that I will somehow live up to for word from elders are words of stone. They brazenly wrap around my arm and take comfortable shape.

Countless hours of sleepless nights, throbbing heartaches, headaches, and your mistakes have softened. It has softened into my skin, blended with my blood and circulates through my heart.
I have taken it, at times, reluctantly. I have learned to deal with it.

I am still your darling.