The air I breathe

Is defiled by

Your touch and

Loathsome presence.

I’m sick of talking

To empty space

That responds with

Shallow thought.

If any is behind your words.

A look and a smile.

No intuition to realize

My insults

Are not in jest.

I’m considered a

Friend in your eyes,

Though you’re not in mine.

I can’t stand to watch

You pretend to be

What you are.

How can you stand

Yourself?