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Has memory been replaced by something new?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?"