Your throat burning with disgust,
as you watch her walking away,
Every step she makes
makes you hurt
more,
as if she wasn't stepping on the ground
but your bleeding heart and burning body.
You don't want to care, really,
don't want to give a damn.
Every attempt to reach
indifference
fails.
She stops, stands and stares;
but she doesn't stare back at you,
though you starve irrevocably
to see the look in her eyes.
She won't show you
(that she's crying.)
Perhaps everything's
better this way
(you just don't see it yet)