Ungrateful To the End
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The person who tries to help someone, without accepting they may have to stop. and block any avenue of communication. Risks being destroyed mentally. It's even worse when the individual shares your residence.
I lie on sheets.
That emits the stale odor of my body,
That is treated, like crows, do roadkill.
I answer their cry for help, and still, they pick at me.
Needing to perceive one defect in me,
to make us equal in their mind.
My house is silent, even in the daylight.
For I fear they will know I am cringing inside.
I now sacrifice human contact
because they come with claws and fangs.
Wanting to be sure I will share in their misery.
My energy and will are almost gone.
Retaining enough to take these many pills,
in groups.
Then the glass of Bacchus’ liquid.
I feel warm.
I feel human.
As the damage to my mind and body,
no longer give me pain.
I laid down again.
The odor of the sheets doesn’t bother me.
Even as I see sunlight, darkness covers my eyes.
There is no breath or heartbeat.
I am at peace.
Copyright © Kieran Pavlick | Year Posted 2020
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