The Callout

Stop looking at me. Don't Show your face.
Just let me be, I keep my own pace.
Go and on with your perfect damn life. Try to hurt me.
Try to destroy every molecule my body contains. You use a knife.
The painful slow way. The way that makes someone go through insanity.
You put me through hell, try profanity. Insecurity.
The words that made me hit the rock of depression.
Sinking lower, and lower, with every expression.
Every little thing you do. Every little smirk you hold.
The color of your eyes. Once a warm brown, now a rush of cold.
Understand the pain of truthfulness, of unforgiving torture.
Realize what you did to me, and how much I suffered.
Lose everything. Try it. Put yourself in my shoes.
But you can't walk in this race. You lose.
All the effort in the world, but nothing to show for it.
The confusing metaphor of teen affection.
An illusion. You see it, you believe it. No connection.
Not for me. Everything about you. Every word you spoke,
kept in tune, until the next mental smoke.
The next time I pull a joint out of my pocket a try it.
The addiction of love. Relaxing, yet troublesome.
Throw it to the ground, I won't take some.
No more. The last call. I'm sorry.
Feel it. Read it. See it. Believe it.
No connection.