just in case you've forgotten,

vices are not 

inhereited through the 

splitting of DNA between your mother

and father. the excuses from your brother don't

replace yours and they

don't cover up

the fact that you're drowning yourself

in absinthe because

you can't break the pattern.

just as the snow blankets 

the earth, self-

pity envelops you and 

has you on your knees

begging that this needle will break

off into that 

delicate vein, bursting

the sludge

that you've accumulated from 

the self-hatred of 

your family. put down the bottle, throw

away the pills, and quit

telling yourself that this is 

the last time because

we both know

that it's not. instead

of blinding believing

that you're destined for 

failure just as your 

ancestors

have proven generation

after

generation, be the

anomoly of

self-improvement and refuse 

to be another

cycle of withdrawl and relapse. I know the

sweat from your brow will

run into your

eyes and the salty pain will be 

nothing compared 

to the earth quaking

shakes, but chain

yourself to the floor

if you must because you don't need that vice to 

complete you, you need the 

sprouting flowers of 

spring to burst 

from your lungs and extend

through your fingertips and

toes. addiction is not 

expected, it's a question

you'll answer with a middle finger and a

"fuck you" 

because you're better than the 

bottle.