Is that all?
I can't remember the last time you said my name.
What did your voice say to me?
I don't recall a sound. Was it longing? Or riddled with tedium?
I can't remember if I was wanted.
When you were pressed there so close against me,
Was it really me you were looking for?
If I fill the void, I am the substitute, replaceable
Of no meaning, if just for your pleasure.
I feel wrath at your display,
And yet you glide past me without the slightest notice.
But then eyes fall heavy
With the words laced with nothing short of 'guilt-trip'
I'm sorry.
But they are of no meaning either.
Once spoken, easily forgotten.
They pop like unwanted speech bubbles.
Before I get the chance to look, they're gone.
But then so are you.
I feel burdened. You ignore.
I feel empty. You press further.
I will crumble into those whispers of judgement that you have your ear pinned to.
The ones in which you crawl deeper into their nest.
I would try to snap away at the twigs, set you free,
But I can tell you are comfortable there.
Nothing is sacred anymore.
Has memory been replaced by something new?
If you choose to throw out the old, then I guess I am gone.
And I'll walk into the cold. Waiting,
Knowing that you'll call when you are left again,
Because you'll want me there.
You'll want whatever it is that I have to offer.
I crave to face you and say "Is that all?"
As I know that all I have is the cold when you are beckoned.
I wrap myself deeper within my own.
I grace the feathered snow to bury thoughts, memories, feelings.
The cold makes me grow harder,
So you can't get in anymore.
I learn to shut you out as you had done to me.
Lock by lock, I step back.
You can knock, bang, call at my door but
My response shall be nothing more than, "Is that all?"