Go ahead,

Divulge the depths to which you sink when speaking of your past,

 speak freely, unabashed,

of these demons you’ve stashed away, drop the mask,

Let your words bypass that filter you placed to strain what you say about your misplaced youth,

 the truth is much less devastating then you think,

do you think you’re the only one,

the only son to grow up beneath the blood shot eyes of a dad who liked to drink,

 a giant who sipped until he shrank,

 condensing his potential into potential disasters, haphazardly plastered he sank

 each moment like the brink of a roller coaster drop,

but this roller coaster doesn’t get any closer to being over, the fall never stops

It’s just a free fall, a verbal free for all

as the fluid fluently flaps his jaw,

beer in hand slurring curses, the fury worsened with each sip

It’s like you can’t even recognize who “He” is

because you could never see the man you call dad spouting these obscene things

like he must have the real him buried beneath the screams,

clawing at this coffin, coughing, popping at the seams

 downing beer to bring him down low enough to drown his dreams

content with drinking himself to sleep and only speaking of grand scheme

but never living, always giving up, but never giving his all,

In fact he can’t even access all of himself

Not even half, repressing adolescence as his higher essence sits on the shelf

Sound familiar? That’s right you’re not the only one

We all have hurts in our pasts

You’re not the first or the last,

 just a part of the collective, collecting the pieces of a shattered past

You need this releif, release your mind from the vice of your vices

I know it’s a bitch, but sometimes that what life is

It’s your chance to break the cycle, 

we all know where this leads you don't need to be a psychic

you become what you try to repress

As you regress into the places where the faces are no more than a blur

But your fears are far from faceless, let's face it

Open up, I know you’re broken up

But all our broken pieces make a whole 

build a mold and fill it up to fill these holes,

purge our hurts in bursts of ink until our words form an atlas for lost souls