Drooling red from my eyes to meet the bitter
sun that shines past into light. Setting fire
to curtains in hope that you’re dreaming.
Destroying the tomb of memories from your
life. In the room full of family, but couldn’t
find one. In the hallways lit up brightly,
but couldn’t find myself. I laid drunk on
the concrete on the day of your birth in
celebration of all you were worth.
I am my father’s son.
I am no one.
I cannot love.
It’s in my blood.