Apathonic

The girl you love, the girl with
curling hair,
she does not care for me
anymore.  We spent fifteen minutes
smoking in a bathroom together.
I only smoked to be with her,
though she did not want any company.
If only she knew you loved her,
and if only I could take back
all that time we spent together,
in the the bathroom of
a crowded theater
while you waited outside
thinking a lyric up for the music in your head.
If only.
I wrote lyric for you,
lyric about
people who need each other
and people who love each other
and what happens when
you throw all that love
back in their face.
You didn't care for that lyric.
All I ever wanted was to love you
all she ever wanted was for you
to be happy.
Now she knows you cannot
be happy and be happy with her.
You are not coming back
to be there for her.
You are not coming back
to care.
You have been gone for too long to miss us.
You are never wanting us around.
You are never needing anybody at all.
You have everyone
so you don't need us.
You hate anyone who needs.
You hate anyone who needs.
You hate what they see in you.
You hate that they see into you at all.
I can give you anything,
but you want nothing from me.
So she stares at her palms
flat and facing her
and looks at her knuckles
bent and crooked and facing away.
She needs to press the needle
in
at
her
throat
and maybe then the feelings will subside.
And maybe you'll get a divorce. 
Nothing is likely.