The Night Lives Were Painted In Red
A father lost in shadows, and the ripples left behind
This poem contains sensitive themes related to alcohol addiction, self-harm, suicide, and its impact on families. It is inspired by a real-life event from a close family member. Reader discretion is advised.
The clock spoke in quiet tremors
a metallic whisper of three
as he sat beneath the dim kitchen light
his breath thick with whiskey
his eyes clouded with storms
The revolver gleamed in his hand
a cold truth pressed against his palm
while the bottle lay empty
a silent accomplice
to the chaos within
She stood in the doorway
her voice trembling
please come to bed
but he shook his head
a shadow heavier than words
Behind her
the mother prayed to forgotten gods
hands clasped tightly
as if holding a life slipping through her fingers
Upstairs the children dreamed in fragile breaths
a five-year-old clutching a worn teddy bear
a six-year-old lost in a world without answers
a baby stirring
unaware of the storm unraveling below
And then the gun
its voice cutting the silence
not as a question but an answer
a declaration forged in poison and despair
The shot shattered the night
blood blooming like dark petals on the carpet
his body falling
strings cut on a puppet long worn
his wife’s scream slicing through the air
his mother collapsing
prayers scattering like ashes
The children’s cries hung in the stillness
a chorus of innocence breaking
the baby’s wail
the older ones frozen in fear
their world forever painted in red
Addiction turned him into a ghost
a father fading into shadow
a man swallowed by the lie
that the bottle held relief
This is the theft of addiction
it steals fathers from their children
husbands from their wives
it turns love into ruin
In the quiet that followed
the house stood hollow
its walls bearing the weight of his absence
the children growing into spaces
he would never fill
And yet in the rubble
a whisper remained
for those still standing
a plea to shatter the bottle
before it shatters them
Because every man lost leaves a scar
but every scar holds the faintest chance
for healing
The poem is based on a real-life event involving a close family member who tragically took his own life. At 3 a.m., tragedy struck in the most unimaginable way... He shot himself in the head in front of his wife, mother and three young children — ages 6, 5, and 10 months old.
He was once a lively and joyful person. However poverty and the weight of trying to provide for his family eventually led him into depression. He found comfort in alcohol which eventually consumed him one day.
This happened six years ago yet I still feel chills thinking about his children witnessing such a horrifying moment … their father collapsing, the blood and the trauma they now carry. I feel the impact on their mental health and lives is beyond measure. It’s horrible how one person’s tragedy can ripple through so many others. Forever changing the course of their lives. Life can be unbearably tragic at times.
— 2025
Please take some time to read this powerful story by
My Drinking Days Gone in a Flash
OMG. Such a powerful rendering depicting a horrendous, heartbreaking event. I lived for 8 years with an alcoholic and have my share of harrowing tales but nothing, thank God, like this. Prayers for continued healing for the family.
Misbah, wow! The beginning with that suffocating atmosphere of inevitability, like a tragedy unfolding in slow motion... And then the mother's silent prayers, the children dreaming upstairs, oblivious - these details feel like tiny daggers, twisting at the heart. It's heartbreaking that addiction steals so many lives and destroys families.