You Are Afraid

that no one believes
how hard you tried.

It’s dusk outside and I can see
your musty, orange-lit house,

you wasted and wasting. 
No food. Just soused.

I am tiny, 
and as far as the curb

or further. I watch
you stumble, fumble,

burn. Your drapes are open, crusty, 
blue, showing all the end of you.

I can’t stop it. Never could. 
I knew better. I thou…