My boys wear a cracked label,
Their broken minds tangled in midnight conversations
Which burn like coal on driftwood
And strive to fragment a splintered bond.
Rusted dreams lie stagnant in the wake
Of shuttered emotion and tired lies.
Cold words thrown like punches
Carve through their steeled hearts
Until they can no longer pose and fall like an old tree
Weathered and beat by countless storms.
Without the half-smile mask, pretending everything is fine,
Stale whiskey attempts to drown their demons
As they cradle the broken pieces of their cracked labels,
The sign that brands them brother.