Dear Father,

I always know what you've done.
I can always tell when you're on drugs,
Face drained, eyes plain,
hollowed out from lack of sleep.
I don't understand how you think you're hiding it from everybody.
Mother knows, don't think she don't.
She isn't stupid, she knows what you've been doing.
Everyone see's it, why deny,
the fact that your ways are in plain sight?
Porn Magazines, strung out for everyone to see,
Why would you even do such a thing?
Have you no conscience, no shame?
Your lies are pointless, nothing you say ever makes since.
Come home, why bother? You're always bitching about how much you hate it here.
The stress we bring you, the missery and guilt,
Yet you love us all, and the foundation we've built.
Lies, scars, tears, Lies, scars, tears,
Oh what's that I hear?
Mother's scream, yelling "Don't touch me!"
Sister's cries, saying "Why, oh why?!"
The police coming down the street, your frantic running, as you leave.

Dear Father, what is this?
Another case of hurt and dismiss?
How do you find room to sleep, knowing all of what you've done to me?
The hurt, the pain, the hurt, the pain.
Sometimes I wonder, why you just don't stay away.
You hate it here, you've made that clear.
So, Dear father, Come home, why bother? We've always been better off, without you here.