The Bottle in the Kitchen

After she was gone, the house didn’t die.

It just filled up with booze, rot,

and one sorry motherfucker nobody threw out.

He came in drunk, talking big, smelling like piss

Cheap liquor breath, same tired bitch-ass script

“You know how I get,” yeah, I know that line

That’s what cowards say when they cross that line

My sister was sick, seven wars in her blood

Still he sat in the house like a roach in the mud

I clenched my teeth till my whole face locked

Twice I dropped his ass, still the bastard talked

And the walls held the stain

Of his drunk-ass name

Every room got meaner

Every night the same

Bottle in the kitchen, devil in the den

Whole house choking, let the poison in

Love turned savage, pain turned smoke

Everybody watched while the whole shit broke

Bottle in the kitchen, ghost in the hall

One stayed sick, one drank through it all

And I still hear the sound of a life gone wrong

In a house full of hate where the hurt lived long

Me and my sister never fit that clean

Too much old blood, too much shit in between

But blood is blood, even cut with spite

And grief don’t vanish just because you fight

Mama died and the whole place soured

Like mildew, rage, and a fuse that cowered

He kept running his mouth, kept fouling the air

I stayed for the fire, but she kept him there

Some people drag poison in

and call it company.

Then everybody else gotta learn

how to sleep with the stink.

Then death came slow, and it took its pick

One lost to sickness, one drank himself sick

Now the silence feels cruel, like a bruise with teeth

And I still feel the ash underneath

I loved her, yeah, even when it burned

Even mean words leave scars unlearned

Now the house just sits like a jaw snapped wide

Full of old screams nobody denied

Bottle in the kitchen, devil in the den

Whole house choking, let the poison in

Love turned savage, pain turned smoke

Everybody watched while the whole shit broke

Bottle in the kitchen, ghost in the hall

One stayed sick, one drank through it all

And I still hear the sound of a life gone wrong

In a house full of hate where the hurt lived long

Some houses ain’t homes.

They’re wounds with furniture.

And some people don’t ruin a room—

they infect the whole motherfucking house.