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…
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