You have this marvelous habit
Resenting the fact
I dare to be alive
A shade cast on your presence
On my feet, not scraped knees
I enjoy how you go out of your way
Savor my shortcomings
With sharp sarcasm
And a dash of ridicule.
It’s not even that you’re bored.
At least, I don’t think you are.
Your considerate condescension,
Demonstrate some interest in my suffering.
What is it they say? The writing’s
On the wall. Of my soul, yes.
Emotion draining, psychological graffiti,
Your penmanship’s lacking.