me-lancholy

I am but a mere distraction within a sea of distractions.
For a moment there, I thought that you might care for me.
I don't know what makes up your mind, the thoughts that go into it.
The logic and the reasonings, the morals and ideals.
I wish I knew.
Just like I wish I knew why I care about you.
Why I care about what you feel about me.
Why I care about what you think about me.
Why I care about if you wanted me.
If you needed me.
If you hate me.
If I disgust you.
If I make you laugh.
If I make you weep.
If I mean little... just as little as how they all mean to you.
Or less. Or maybe a little bit more.
Why do I let myself be taunted by your lies?
Why do I let myself be baited by your sweet words?
Why do I give in and convince myself that it is what I want?
Do I really want this? Can I not want this?
Can I throw you away? Cast you aside?
Kill you? Kill you? Kill you? Kill you?
It weeps, it bleeds, the little bird it does.
My heart, the little bird, an effigy of stone.
The stone cracks, it crumbles.
I cannot escape.
Kill me, please?