He doesn’t know how I see him 

All he sees is a scene of violent color 

On his muted, torn up, leather couch

His drink seeps another ring into the oak

into the family

into me

it tarnishes my silver skin purple and sore

Then blue and numb

He becomes transparent through the murky drink 

He does not see me anymore

I’ll just watch while the wind and I will talk

He doesn’t know I’m here

I could be anyone

I could run

He wouldn’t know

He doesn’t know

He doesn’t know how I see him