I am not yours
to interrogate,
to tear apart with attention.

I gave you what I could,
and all you did was ask
Why.

Now all I have
is mental images
and silent weeping before sleep
drowns out my awareness
and forced laughter
and fingernails squeezing blood
from the shadows of my skin
and rejection; loud, barreling
rejection
and giggles
and irritation
and anger
and
diminishing patience
and
a wasteland of resounding
Hope.