I feel like no one ever hears me

    I speak
and their eyes glaze over;
maybe I'm polite
but nobody cares about my side of things.

They walk around me
and pretend I'm not there.

will tussle with their **** as I'm sitting there as my shadow pours over them.
I'm not there.

I can sing to a crowded room
and no one's eyes
watch me;
I am truly invisible.   I'm not even sure
I exist, but here we
are

you use my loneliness as a weapon

you reach out only to infest

you're a vicarious ****
, you revel in my sadness,
   the taste is
sweet, and if I'm buried
into my casket you will leap

rid you of me
rid every bit of you

rid you of me
exorcise
these demons from my head

I get sad seeing pictures of her with the new guy,
rubbing his back
and kissing etc etc.

I'm a ******* I guess in the sense that I search this stuff out intentionally.

I need to know how she's doing and apparently she's doing well.

but I see in the eyes of the wimp a very familiar expression.

he just recently went down on her and now he wants out and is feigning his affection.
   he's been drained of his money to buy frivolous ****.
  he's been punched in the gut for saying an innocuous joke.
he's been forced to clean up her 3 dog's piles of **** and stay up to 5 am arguing on a work night because of a manic episode.

    She is unlovable
but I somehow loved her, and for that I must forgive
myself

I love my cat
because she hates me.

she brings home half-mutilated mice
and crickets
and throws them on my bed.

I yell at her then I pet her.

I spent a whole $100 on her which is a lot of money;

if she leaves tomorrow, I understand.

please just don't go with the black cat

up at 4:43 writing a poem as though writing a good one will change anything.
I have 600 poems and nothing has changed.

maybe it allows me to notarize and organize my life in certain stages by writing this stuff
even though I can go months without composing anything.

But maybe I'll say something which finally
       allows me to run naked through the hills.

something which allows me to go behead the president and take a ****
in front of a news camera on the most prominent station.
If I **** my own ****
it's only due to my long neck;
6-7 inches is nothing nowadays when competing with **** in which  every female is a consumer.

I am for sure
going to the post office tomorrow; my book of zen arrives.
It says be water, so I'll run

I cooked her a bowl of rice
with some sausages slathered in butter. The rice hadn't
been washed
so it turned into a sort of mush.
I'm a generaly pretty accomplished cook being that it's been my profession the last 10 years, but this was embarrassing.
She ate it anyway though and started clinking the bottom of the bowl with her spoon
indicating she really enjoyed it
"Thank you, I really enjoyed that" she said and
then kissed me

It was the first time a man ever cooked for her.
normally she'd get ******
and have Burger King nuggets after.
I made  her 10 cent rice and then ****** her
but also cared somewhat
too

it's an odd feeling knowing that I will one day indeed finally end my life.

It's nice knowing that there is some finality, so I have no need to worry.
I just wanna say a few more things
before I go.

Probably the same things a 100 more times then I should be content