You talk
around me
and about
me like
a roundabout;
an obstacle.

You dismiss
all I
say as
smart person
talk when
I am
stupid but
you are
cretinous.

You walk
in a
line of three
until you
unfortunately remember
me and
sigh grumble
and contort
into two
lines of
two.

I hope
you are
happy when
I die
so I
don't have
to pretend
I had
any friends.

I know
you will
not cry
when I
die.
You will
only cry
at the
mess I've
made with
my bloodstains.