My dad is a drunk.
All he does is sit in the garage and drink to numb his problems,
Instead of facing them.
He feels like a failure.

I understand that.
But he needs to understand that he was never a failure until he picked up a bottle.
He's terribly ill all the time,
Can't hold down a job,
And has me for a child.
I know that's gotta hurt.

But he lets it hurt my family.
He no longer talks to his brother.
He is forbidden from his mother's house.
He and mom fight all day, and then cuddle at night.
I'm sick of them playing house.
I don't think they remember what love feels like.

Next time he comes for me,
Makes me want to hurt myself,
Or corners me in my safe place,
I'm not holding back.
I'll let my tongue become the gun he made it.
I'll shoot a bullet of words and ask him to leave my life until he's sober.

He claims he doesn't have a problem anymore.
If you still think our relationship is steady, there's still a problem.

Remember forcing me to hug you?
Remember making fun of my eating disorder?
Remember having a seizure, and the last thing you did was reach for your bottle?
Remember dying in the hospital, after getting a blood infection, but you don't have a immune system anymore after your surgery, so they sedated you and put a tube down your throat as your entire body bruised and scarred, and then you refused to get treatment, because you would rather die than stay alive for your family, but you lived anyway?

So dear father,
See you in hell.
And I'll bring whiskey.
Unless you're sober then.
I'll bring back my lost love for you.