alcoholics
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“It’s not about the taste
It’s not to be cool
It’s not about trying
To make myself look like a fool
It’s about drowning
I don't depend on anyone,
my walls are in place.
Sorrow always seems to find me,
slaps me in the face.
These tears I cry will be my last,
for my father, stuck in the past.
He's lost in his pain,
one drink, then two
happy, bubbly, nice, and sweet
and i start to wonder who
stands on those feet.
three drinks, then four
careless, stupid, and matter-of-fact
