Bitter
If I cried for you, would you even care?
If I died for you, would you notice I wasn’t there?
You talk to me, and my spirits are high.
One glance from you, and I can fly.
But I don’t think you’ve noticed;
I don’t think you’re aware.
You’re killing me softly now,
And I don’t think you care.
If I die or if I live,
It’s all the same to you.
Sure, you may deny it now
But you know it’s really true.
On the outside I seem calm,
But in my heart rages a war.
Every minute that I live,
I seem to die a little more.
So go ahead—continue
To make fun of and laugh at me.
I guess I will just die here, then,
If it makes you happy.
Copyright © October 1996 by Veronica L. F. Jensen
