He seeks solace,
But cannot comprehend his discontent,
Cept in profanities, stained with tobacco,
He longs for comfort, the kind that can only be found,
In the arms of your mother,
Her love exceeding your shortcomings,
With a smile.
He has found no kindness in this world,
So does not show any, isolated through circumstances,
Spends his nights alone,
But his mother left him long ago,
She wanted more from life than his father could give,
Who had lived with the bottle,
For far more years, than she cared to remember.
Pounding headache, bruised lip,
In that order, loyal trusted friend,
And so he does what comes naturally to him,
Looks for sympathy at the bottom, of a bottle of whisky,
Numbing the pain,
Warming his soul,
Mimicking a mothers embrace.