in desolation

I lay here, still sobbing.
you stand behind me, as if nothing is wrong. you continue talking
about the weather, and what to cook
for breakfast.
the tears fall fast from my eyes.
You leave me, you spare me no thought,
and head upstairs, where you get far enough away
so that the sound of my grief can no longer be heard.
You do not understand it. You do not comprehend what you have done.
You have the audacity to make yourself seem the victim.
Throwing aside all duty to me, all responsibility
you let me mourn alone. And never have I felt so alone.
I have been disowned. I am not important enough - not worth even a second
of your precious time. Time you spend sleeping
or sitting, like the sack of rottenness you are, before the television.
You were not willing to make an effort then, to get the remote
to cover yourself in a blanket
to turn on or off the lights.
You are not willing now.
Things must be done on your terms. For not only are you the maker of my misery
you are a tyrant as well. I can do nothing but suffer under your rule.
That is the law, and the law must be upheld.
It is not a difficult existence for you.
Who has heard of a single man being able to throw off the chains of oppression?
One cannot successfully rebel against power, great and many
but power over one yields as much satisfaction as that over a kingdom.
It takes the anguish of only one to guarantee the delight of many of your kind.
That is why others can continue on. Why no one else sympathizes with my cause
and instead they brand me as unstable or insane
for wanting to think differently. It makes it easy for you, does it not?
It establishes a sense of righteousness in your acts
and even more ground for you to continue.
But there is nothing darker
than a false moral pretext.
One day it will get the better of you
and I hope I'm here to see it
when that day finally comes.