While trying to organize the stuff from my computer, I’ve found this and remembered I used to love it. It’s dedicated to a very close friend of mine, who at some point, forgot about everyone else around her and was expecting the world to be exclusively at her feet only. The funniest thing was, that she read this on my blog at the time and loved it saying: “These kind of people should be shot! They have no consideration for other people’s feelings.” This goes and shows you that some people will never recognize themselves in other people’s words, even if you spell it out for them.
His black eyes were withered by the remains of his unwiped tears. He was looking into the deepness of your nakedness and was trying to show you that you are nothing but a hypocrite. His skin, burnt and dehydrated by the sun, was caressing yours in a frail attempt to make you feel something, anything. He, mute and unnoticeable for you, only wished you would have known him for who he was; you instead, were celebrating the height of your hypocrisy and turn him into an invisible form, a tacit form. He turns his gaze and sensing your weaknesses, hopes to never hear a sound from you again. Your laments become knifes that rip his flesh from the bones and he still tries, with his last strength, to ask for your help. You pierce his being, disregarding his pain, pushing your needs above his. He charges like an animal and bites; perplexed and ungrateful, you look into his eyes and ask for his gratitude and love. The poor sicken by you, of you, bastard, closes his eyes as if to forget you between blinks, turns away and tries to rediscover your first memory together.
(I listen while you speak and try to cure your meaningfulness; you look at me and speak, hoping that I will never need for you to listen).