i was always given the best "advice"
concerning my own sorrows -
always the relativistic answer:
stop being so "autistic":
   look at the worries of other people!
seems pretty hard...
when, these other people -
   have so little to do with me -
this... robbing of a self with a yourself
(reflexive) and a your self (reflective)
is supposed to chime:
enforced sympathy...
   no wonder i dragged empathy
into the gutter, and drowned it in
a shallow puddle,
               crushing its nasal cartilage...
you tend to nuances -
when, asking for no victim status -
you ask for sympathy,
and are rhetorically implored to
give off an aura of empathy...
  and you can't...
  sadistically basking
            in a schadenfreude...
i was never rich enough
to afford a psychologist...
   but a psychiatrist,
with an amalgam of pharmacological
rainbows?
     sure... it's neu-englischland...
tell me your story,
i have a ****, and some ****-smear
******* based on a canvas
of toilet paper to flush...
  you don't scratch my back...
i'll just kick you in y'er baboon's
hot rod buttock worth
an archery's bull's eye...
      this persistence of
mea culpa: that i've become
immune to...
  now "they're" worried...
telling me i have w bloated liver
from all the drinking...
   so?
       it didn't matter then,
it hardly matters now...
  you seriously can't expect
an empathetic reply from me, now...
not with the sort of sympathy
i received...
    ******* tomorrow,
and ******* now
i was never going to claim an
Everest like statement
within the confines of
hyper-inflated morality
into aging to be 90 years old...
i had but one parameter to fulfill -
and it was:
   with neither ja, or isch -
but a waspish reiteration
echo of: nein nein nein!