Not a date

Apathy floats in

on the wing of a breeze

tenderly through

the window you left ajar.

Slow acting drug

to pass on my lips.

A blank TV stare-

smile at something

you saw when you

looked directly through me.

I’ll decide to pretend

that one indication

of any affection

could maybe

be mine.

No hatred, no love-

just silence for me.

Now that you’ve exhaled

with the breath of apathy,

a slow non-death comes

for my deflated heart.

The cars drove softly

behind me

on my walk away from

your house.

Wispy, flimsy,

like the kisses

you put on my forehead.

Sometimes fake

is gentle.

When I’ve known too much,

I take what I do get

to lull me into ignorant

sleep.

I think I might need help.

I think I may be hurt.