It’s My Fault

I wrote this when, my father left my family, for drugs. Even after 3 years, it still hurts more then a knife, or any razor. Sorry, if this is not one of those emo crap death poems.
Why did you do the things you do?
You hurt us all more then 1 way.
Calling me your son when I had the flu.
Saying you won’t touch it again, but nay.
You do.

At first I was lost
Not knowing what you did.
Just thinking why would he get up and leave.
The last thing you said to me "I love you, kid"

I should have went with you.
On that ride.
I could be writing a happy poem,
Instead of this sad gloomy overdrive.


By Cody Brady
Published: 2/1/2008 		Your Contributions: Tell us a Poem! You don't have to be a Buzzle.com author to contribute to Poetry Bee. Submit a poem of your own right now!
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