They fuck you up,

and make you sad,

I can't even begin to describe my dad.

The other, my mother, is not too bad,

kind of fun, schizophrenia,

my mum is mad.

The grandparents are fucked,

Pop ran out of luck,

when meeting that venomous bitch.

Gilded yet empty, a heart with no love,

that woman by rights should be lynched.

My brother, another I used to know.

Time; how it flies and people grow.

Unfortunately now, you mean little to me,

In memories your features, no longer can I see.

The Irish lads are fine and grand,

living it up in the emerald land.

Sad as it is, your lives have progressed

without my presence nevertheless.

These facts are my life, the norm for me,

resulting psychiatric conditions on the horizon I clearly see,

It's unfortunate really,by law, that I am prevented,

from sharpening knifes in anger un-vented.

Yet family is family when you get to the end,

a safeguard meaning,

you can only contemplate,

and not actually kill them.