Mom's Drinking...

Mom,
I find myself too often wishing I was a cheap drink,
Blue Hawaiian, margarita, A strawberry daiquiri--
So that once a week you would remember my special, my name
And reach for me for (Southern) comfort-- but I know that's not the same.
Lately, you're as empty as the bottle you hold dear,
Searching for something-- but your head isn't clear.
And I'm trying not to whine, but my good memories of you are as blurry as the bottom of the bottle you look down every night.
But here I am. Waiting. Hoping. Praying. Some day you'll see the light.
I won't take up too much of your time, wouldn't want you to miss the last call,
I miss the Sober You, your night life makes my skin crawl (not a bar crawl).
But I've been bottling this up for so long--
And I keep telling myself to stay strong.
Because I know if I called you, your slurred words would not ease my mind.
It's five o'clock somewhere, somewhere over the rainbow, you are high, in a dark twisted world I dare not find.
But I'll keep the light on, whisper a prayer, and hope for the best...
Because some day the bar will close and you'll have to find a new place to rest.
Cheers to you, still wishing you the very best.