I hurt maself
To my fucking father:
The past is never truly forgotten, the wind remembers everything, your every breath, your every sin, recycling them into a painful whirlwind of all the things you’ve ever done wrong. You try to drown the past though, you find solace staring at the bottom of a bottle. I could never help you, because you’re sick, but did you ever try to get better? People do funny things to forget pain, but the pain of before is chronic. You don’t even say I love you anymore, because you’ve forgotten how to love, because you’ve never loved yourself. You’re a hurricane, you’re a mess, you’re fucking crazy, but the funniest thing is, I still love you.