To: Stepdad, “You can’t take your money with you when you die.”You left nothing here and it made you the bad guyScattering pennies in dreams of my mother being able to afford groceriesEating peanut butter jellies every night before i lay down in my bed of carpet i had to sleep onrationing my christmas money of on a few boxes of mac and cheese and a can of raviolisTracking down friends that might owe me The house bill is in the mailNo one opens that box just to be filled with indignant despairEnvelopes explode from that door to hellWater bill, light bill, medflight tooThere's a note on the door, $359 heating payment dueShe stopped coming home to escape that pit of darkness she couldn’t crawl out of My mother, my rock, my home couldn’t pull that dollar bill harness offI have $90 from bussing tables and scrubbing the toilets mom, will that help?Why couldn’t you just lay down that vodka bottle?Now we're cemented in your debt of $60,000 dollarsStarted filling that void with careless interactions in hope Where are my friends, the ones that have my back?Empty, pit of depression drowning in an ocean of continuous currentsThe thoughts that take me as far away as that large expanse of depression can take meThat lonely cold crisp air became my best friend when it filled my lungsI'm not that empty anymore  The firey string of breath that burns my throat when i am clinging for my own void to stayTake a deep breath honey, you’ll be okayCant they see that every ounce of weighted thoughts that seep into my ocean of depression fills my pit of despair to the brim and i can’t keep my head above my own drowning sensations Yeah, you can’t take money with you when you dieHappiness, life, and love stood in place of your whiskey bottle you could not put down You were so blindPay this amount to the coffin of tears and heartache that you left behind     In loving memory,  Reanna Payne