Figuratively speaking a bottle is a negative load of nothing in our house. This bottle is a seductress who challenges our sanity, taunts our ph balance.
This object of desire usurps my authority & the integrity of my nature constantly. She is an evil who drives a wedge between love of & love for anyone who matters. She is constant in her temptation, she is relentless, stroking an ego so insecure, that I wish at times that bottle I could smash & strike a blow so bloody it’s presence would frighten the day-lights out of my love, who cannot after much trying, find the willpower to fight against its power. For the contents of a bottle holds such confidence for a weak, bold, anguished soul that the fight this family has at staying together is reaching a fragile state. Children caught in the middle of substance abuse are emotionally neglected by the family who struggle daily to have peace, so longed for, that it keeps you wide awake in your dreams when you see the destruction of morals, of bounderies, of responsibility & accountability for actions you can deny in your wake from slumber induced by a body no longer capable of binging on that bravado of the bottle that’s been your friend for eons. A friend who holds your hand in a remorse no longer believed.
It is sad that the norm is a taste I can no longer take, it makes us nauseous just the reek on a breath, it turns a once lovely home into a battlefield of will…
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