it's been five years.
five years since you
walked out of our home;
out of our lives. five years
since you told us you
wanted a divorce. five years
since you realised that our
family isn't what you wanted
after all.

even though it's been five years,
mum still cries herself to sleep at
night. she's been on prozac for
six months now, and between you
and me i haven't noticed a difference.
her only friend these days is a bottle
of whisky, and half of the time she doesn't
even notice that we're still
here.

it's been five years, but danny still
blames himself for everything. he got
excluded from school two weeks ago, you
know. he spends most of his time down
the park, smoking mayfairs and getting
drunk from cheap cider. he's so angry, dad,
he pushes everyone away and although he'll
deny it until he's blue in the face, i hear him
crying in his bedroom
almost every night.

five years have passed, and erin still
hates herself so much. do you know what it's
like to watch a twelve-year-old girl give up on
the world, because if she "was a better person,
maybe dad would have stayed"? do you know
what it's like to listen to her telling me how
much she wants to die? rolling up her sleeves
and showing me lines of angry, red cuts and
cigarette burns? do you know what it's like to watch
my little sister slipping further and further away, until
i know that soon there'll be
nothing left.

yeah, it's been five years, but i'm still as messed
up as i was back then. i see a psychologist now, dad,
once every week. isn't that just fucking splendid? i
confide my private and innermost secrets to a complete
stranger, because my parents don't care enough to
listen. i spend my days comforting my- our- family and
listening to my friends, when most of the time i can't
even look after myself. my calorie limit is 600 per day,
because i have this fucked up little belief in my head
that if i become delicately thin, you will finally
be able to
love me.

it's been five years. five years, and i can count
on one hand how many times you have tried to get
in contact with us. it was dan's birthday last month,
daddy, and you didn't even send a card. did you forget?
did you really forget your son's birthday? or could you
just not be bothered? are we so meaningless and
unimportant to you, that you can't even remember the
day we became a part of this world? can't pick up
the telephone every once in a while and ask us how
we're doing?

you're pathetic, dad. you're pathetic, you're an arsehole,
and the logical part of my brain tells me i should hate
you. yet for some weird reason, i don't. i love you, and i
miss you. i want you to come back. more than anything, i
want you to walk back through our front door and mend
all the cracks you made when you walked out.

because things haven't been the same without you.
things haven't been the same at all.