I get it,
you're just coping with yourself.
Your protege has you all worked up,
is it denial or sheer cluelessness that you cannot see your own obstinacy through hers?
And why does empathy so often elude,
why is it so hard to see,
that she is you, and you are she?
that you just want to be left alone,
to wallow and stew, isolate and vegetate,
to read and view by yourself in your disquiet.
It is not enough that I am kept to myself for the week-end,
the Untouchable. but
must I also be without the comfort of human discourse,
my name not mentioned,
the very thought of me also forgotten?
are you so oblivious,
that my soul dies within me,
starved for the simplicity
of stimulating conversation?
That you cannot reply,
I do not fault you.
It is too much to ask, I know.
The void cannot reciprocate feelings,
but you pretended well, once upon a time,
had me convinced,
that we walked a path together,
that I was not alone.
An indiscreet message between sisters put lie to that tale,
the pretense found out,
wanting empathy yet finding none within yourself,
you showed me your best mimicry of comfort.
Now even that too is gone,
the facade too difficult to maintain,
crumbles with time.
I reached out this week-end, and found the void.
You were not there for me.
I do not deserve to be alone.