We all have our inner demons, they whisper to us in our minds threw out the day.
Your promised you would stop; and I believed you, I am more disapointed in myself for believing in you, I thought I would have stopped beliving you by now. But I have not. I take your word as I used to but now I doubt it., I find myself acheing with the pain of it. The inner demons are getting better of you again, every time you tilt that glass to your lips, my mind screeches with a harpies scream. You bleed now wallowing in your self pitty behind those eyes, those eyes that once held such confedence, and asureance that I thought was true and fair. But all of that is shatterd now because that glass to your lips, the scent of you when you walk by that reek of self defeat reaches me and all I can do is look away hopeing for the next day to be better.

Sitting down at night, watching you tip that bottle back only brings to mind ‘o look I have to take care of you again till you are fine.’ You speak of your day, with repeated stories that have frustraded you. Then I nod and speak quitely, ‘time for bed’ looking down so my eyes do not meet yours as we go down the hall I tuck you in and smile softly saying in truth “I love you mother” and after your face goes slack from passing out I breathe “but I hate your actions” giving you truth as well before I go back to my own bed laying awake thinking about who is going to take care of you after I am gone, moved somewhere else. I fear what will happen to you,