She has no interest in talking to me anymore. Like a broken toy, used, and tossed onto the floor. Forgotten and thrown under the bed; played with then put away because to her, I am dead.
And to the world I am dead. I breathe, but with no purpose. I do exist, but without meaning. I am awake, yet there's no focus. And I sleep, but there is no dreaming. I am dead.
And she has no interest in talking to me anymore. And it's all my fault. I wish this life would just grind to a halt. I destroy everything good that ever happens to me; And it's only the sweet promise of death that can set me free.