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  I put make-up  on you while you sleep so you be pretty if any visitant comes by, but you wake up when I brush  your eyelids with my fingertip.  As black dust fall onto your lashes you look at me desperately.  I stop dead,you speak softly.  I don’t empathize,I don’t want to. You go into the kitchen and smoke one of your cheap cigarettes.I stay by the ajar door and stare at the cloud of fine particles suspended with gas that almost kills you.    You are hungry. I hide in your own closet.As teardrops cut my cheeks in rivers,you enter the room. “I’m okay now.” You say. I don’t reply;I just comfort you.