I hear it in your tone, I feel it in your eyes, I sense it in the cadence of your voice and breath; I see what you think I can't, I know what you think I don't
You don't care
It's not a greater sense of uncaring for all things, but a lack of care for things that should be considered; and instead of finding a common ground, or using any reasonable sensibilities, you dismiss every bit of resistance to the insalubrious discontent you harbor through pure negligence, pride blinding you to the pleas of those around you
You stifle me
The disruptive, belittling nature of your distaste for anything objective has come at a cost; and now, I lie in limbo from your deflective soul: you never enraptured me, you never captured my heart like a true mother should; no ideal preface resides in my observations, but merely fact and law of emotion
You make me feel worthless
Introspect whispered into my mind, and it showed me a truth I never cared to know: you never even tried to capture my essence, my soul, my heart, or my love; you simply let things be as they were, and I was merely incidental to your existence
You showed love in the most obscure fashion, but you never followed through; you never held any convictions to what you said, or with whatever you responded in times I needed you most
You're incapable of comprehending the implications of your words and actions
A ghost of a man, invisible to the world at large; ultimately haunted by his own reality - you showed me you could never care, because your only clause for dire intent are your intrinsic doubts for anything other than what you experience; your selfishness proceeds you, it condemns you, it mires you, and yet it's everyone else that are the only ones that feel the repercussions
You've never once said sorry to me
I know you'll never read this, but if I had one last chance to just convey the heavy-handed affects of your neglect, it would be: your actions, and inaction, stifle my own sense of care. You've left me in limbo, trying to understand how I should, or could feel about you; you've left me to question my love for one of the only people in my existence that I should be able to reliably known, for certain, love me all the same; you've garnered such abhorrent trends, traits, and habits that consistently, and constantly, rival everyone you come in contact with. The neglect has left my heart tainted, worried, and lonely; you've made me question where I stand, and where I can be.
You can't seem to understand how you're hurting people
That will live with me until you pass, and until the day I die as well. I'll never know what you truly felt, because you hide it under such a thick guise; a facade you've made out of what seems to be necessity, but mostly just arrogant dissonance.
You're not bad to people, but you're explicitly not good either
I don't know how to love you, anymore, because I don't comprehend how you love me. I don't know where I stand, I don't know where to be. I don't know where to go anymore with these feelings. I suffer through nostalgia for things I never had, and digress all intent to a lesser understanding of myself, for it. I suffocate near you, I want to weep yet cringe at doing so for not understanding whether you even deserve my pity, my remorse, my forgiveness, or my love.
I will never understand my own worth, to you
you were never bad to me, not directly, but you never were there for me in the ways I needed you most. you abandoned me, a long time ago, and I will never understand whether that's my fault, or strictly your own. My heart feels a sickness within it, one that makes my chest convulse; like nothing I've felt before. it's wrong, it's nothing, it's everything; it's impure, it's disdain. it's aching to feel anything at all, from you.
you hurt me, and you'll never comprehend, understand, or know why. Because of this, I know we will leave this world wholly apart, and I will never be able to come to terms with that; I will forever live with and inevitably die with that being my only reality
My soul feels sick
