And No One Comes Over

I come to sit by you,

We talk, we laugh.

You become bored and leave.

I remain.

I have followed you,

For too long.

Now I sit, in the "fabled" chair.

And await another that thinks as I do.

And no one comes over.

No one finds the soul as interesting as the body.

As the flirt.

As the mask.

The mask we wear reflects no light,

No shining about-face to the night.

No distraction to cause ill-fated interest,

That is forgotten before it was kindled.

I sit here and wait,

Thinking and praying,

Wanting and waiting.

My patience precedes me.

And still no one comes over.

One or two ask what's wrong,

Then dismiss it no matter what the answer.

No one comes over and stays.

Distractions tear them away,

Am I the only one that cares?

That calls just to say hi,

That takes the pain upon themselves to feel,

Then tries to help.

Have we come to that point,

Even with our nation challenged,

And our patriotism preached,

That when we truly get back down to "it",

We don't care.

Must the invitation always fall upon their side,

Must conversation always be for them.

Must we forget our morals?

Our lives?

Do we care about our lives?

Do we care that others care about us?

Do we?

I know that others think this way,

As you sit by the couch and sway.

I sit and wait for their arrival.

And no one comes over.