I Wish I Meant More, Daddy


Answering with trembling hands, tear-filled eyes
She cries because she’s not good at goodbyes.
The daughter of a syringed, burnt spoon man
The hospital says they’ll do what they can.

Never has she seen his veins without tracks
Or who he really is behind his masks.
She always finds his powder-filled baggy,
When his fist hits, she still calls him “Daddy”.

She’s bitter now, because of all your lies,
And you’re a narcissist who stole her life.
You’ll cause less pain if you hasten leaving
Than to be with her, dead and still breathing.

Answering with steady hands, tearless eyes
I pick up the phone, I am not surprised.

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