Uncle

Freaky moles burrowing
their infected toenails
in my brain, synchronizing,
hypnotizing. All but my own
consiousness taken over
by rage. What if...
I sliced open the sick
thoughts of an average man?
Maybe I'm a saviour
to myself. But to him
I'm a reasonable excuse
for another bottle.
Rotting in sour,
alcoholic persperation.
Drunken fangs sink
into his past life, draining
the air of any hope.
Of any forgiveness...from me.