Slow Whiskey Death

My brother is dying,
and I am watching his demise. 
It is a slow decline
into whiskey and silence,
the pills and the denial,
and I
am heartbroken.

Little boy never stood a chance,
never got a glance
from a mother who
took him from a father;
we have lived life like
scattering chameleons,
"watch the masses,
then act like them."

he has numbed
and succumbed to the
bitter pain
let it sing its refrain
into the alcoholic bottle,
running full throttle
towards a casket
of disaster.

Intervention they say,
but I think it's too late,
the blood coughs up
morning time,
make an excuse,
last night's dinner wasn't
all the way cooked
reason after reason,
it's the dying season.

I shun the bitter angst,
he didn't deserve this,
and we
didn't ask for it;
that life has resorted to this;
it's a poisoned kiss,
inside a hopeful wish.

he said maybe
he'll sleep good;
maybe won't wake up;
maybe might let the ashes
fill a cup
wanna be taken to the Sound
have them scattered around
on sand dunes
while the sea whistles a tune
of welcome.

I'm unafraid of reality,
what I carry inside me,
burns like thunder,
cries like rain,
and I'm dancing
with the Devil again.

It's a solitary path
where hands brush my skin,
can't let them dive in
to where the demons live;
because my brother is dying,
and I'm just trying,
to hold strings together. 

~vennie~

copyright @ dbv publishing 2011