Morning Visitor

He barges in.
Loud.
Obnoxious.
Childish.

It's his way of saying,
"I love you little sister"
and
"Have a good day"

He doesn't know how to share.
Feelings bottled up.
Scars reopened.
Addictions continued.
Until he overflows with grief.

How long?
How long until he's better?

No one answers.
No one knows.

I'd help him if I could.
I try to tell him.
He's too proud for that.
Hiding from me.