it kills me
to know that you've turned to
those things.

you were getting better, you were.
you made a promise to me and to
yourself
that swore off those things

those things
that make you
giddy and glossy and
float and fall and
soar and sad and
dream and drunk

and make you not you.

i can't help you
no matter how much i want to or
how hard i try.

because in the end, it's you who will have to make the decision
you, who will have to control yourself
you, who will have to realize what you've become.