If Only. [Musings of a Younger Sister.]

What more could I say to you?
Your silence makes my
words bleed
through my ears,
aging a naiive heart.
Yet, I find myself screaming
to deaf ears about
this television hogging,
beer-bellied,
drug addicted thing;
You're the
tumor
my sofa's suddenly grown.

Proof your pride had nothing to do with it;
ego went out the window
with the first tears
for daddy-o.

Promises,
like those you gave to me,
["We won't lose touch."],
mean nothing when ink-stained skin
is loved by
tongues and tan lines.
Such a thing tears
you apart and
breaks your word.

If only you could crush those lies
into cigarette ashes.

[[Semper fi.]]
If only you still meant the
words and symbols
etched on flaking skin
in the most sensitive places.
There is no beauty left,
no faith. The heart you want
between your shoulders
reminisces about the
tramp-stamped
black hole where something
used to beat-
if only there was more to you now
than
gold-digging, fuckmenow,
marijuana-induced stupors.

Didn't you so recently ask for help?
You won't recieve it.
The chunk of hell you consumed
and regurgitated
puzzles its way into
the spaces and cracks
you've caused. It's breaking me apart,
like a cat clawing me from the inside.
I'm not the emergency room
and I can't stitch your
self-inflictions shut.

I won't fix you:

Your actions are
unrefrigerated leftovers;
spoiled and selfishly smelly.
Recessed and antique.
-Redundant.-

Hasn't this gotten you in "trouble"
before? If only you'd taken your
tiny pink pills like a good girl.

I'm waiting for the day
you finally end up
with a formula-soaked,
blue-lined,
mentally retarded,
Big. Ol'. Positive.
If only you could realize your mistakes.

Such are the rantings of a
vengeful, literate,
forsaken younger sister.
If only you'd take the time
to listen.