enough

the fireworks on the television are muted,
their colours fall on glossy eyes,
their luminosity dampened -
my vision is obscurred
by this familiar liquid
which stings my eyes like lemon water,
and I cry until the fruit is wringed,
it's porous skin torn, until it is one
with the pump -
a fleshy fibrous mix
of yellow and white
I don't stop shaking,
my teeth are clenched so tight.
the cheers of the joyvial
on this new years eve are too loud,
their happiness is boastful, obtrusive, invasive
I truly wish I could be anywhere else
but here, this place -
my home's deceitful doppelganger.
in past years,
a younger version of myself
would huddle under a desk somewhere,
praying, begging for some miracle
but now I just cry
and I cry for plenty of reasons,
but the main one is in defeat
and the acceptance
that my family will never be the same.
we are dysfunctional,
the cracks grow too deep
and like a tree bearing too much fruit
we will soon buckle and warp
with each subsequent season
and there's nothing I can do about it.
happy new year.