I despise the way you stand there
Surrounded by an air of arrogance
And a hint of
Self-pity that the
Bottle of perfume you spent far too much
Money on
Can't even hide.
Sometimes I sit back
On my worn-out couch
And simply watch you,
Try to understand what that indecipherable look in your eyes means.
Are you content? Happy? Over-joyed?  
Or have I guessed correctly-
That your stomach aches are
More than just a too-crowded
Track?
The way you look at him
Worries me
Because there's no life
There.
Not even a smidgeon of
Lust.
All I can ever make out
Is utter-emptiness-
Not the open palm kind so many people wish for nowadays, but the
"I haven't felt at home in weeks and I'm afraid that I never will" kind.
I spend
Too much time
Worrying about
You
And forgetting to put
My feelings
Into coherent, concrete thoughts;
Thoughts into actions.
I fear
That
I will not be able to save you.
We're both sinking
Ships
Of different varieties.
You're much
Louder than I am,
Though you don't really mean to be
(I think).  
Helplessness has never been
Your strongest skill,
But I hope that
One day
You master it.
No one can fill that house
Of yours
If you keep your
Door bolted
Shut.