Alcoholic Kisses

“Perfection is something I can never achieve…” I mumble,
As the doctor searches me.
“Perfection is not real.” He sighs.
I hang on the thought for only a moment,
And conclude it’s just a lie.
“Scars, a lot of them, no drugs, but you seem to be
a little depressed”
I stare at him,
And a grin is expressed.
“Please please, I’m fine”
I say as I get dressed,
“Please sit Dahlia…”
I shake my head.
“Where is the rest room?”
“Around the corner.”
I walk right on in,
Sit on the floor,
Rest my head back,
And try and remember what I’m here for.
So many reasons,
Come to mind,
But I make a list,
On a paper I find:
I was brought up,
From a poor home,
Of heartless love,
Alcoholic kisses,
And lost faith from above.
Being throw from my own,
Personal Hell,
To Hell number two,
I find my place,
Where people go:
“That is…wait who?”
Everyone would fly,
But not me.
They took off so high,
And all I had was a key.
But the problem was,
Where was the lock?
It couldn’t be here…
Where people would mock,
About the little girl,
Who had no clue,
What the f***,
To really do.
So I went through life,
Until my Father,
Left me here,
To grab a knife,
And make a slice.
So once more,
Lets flash back,
Back to me,
Sitting on one knee,
Writing against the wall,
What I really think of this key.
Crumble up this paper,
Of alcoholic kisses, keys, and knifes.
Throw it in the trash,
And prepare to tell some lies.
“I feel wonderful doctor I really do.”
“Please put this pamphlet away.”
Because I really wouldn’t mind,
A bottle filled,
Of fake happiness,
In the shape of a pill instead.
So give it here now,
Please please doctor,
Put me to sleep.
But oh what a shocker,
I never got them.
So I guess I’ll continue,
To hurt myself skin deep.