A meaty, cold embankment in my mind:
A bored expression laid across my brow;
A repulse 'gainst a thing I'm not inclined
To care about, to think about, to feel
That it pertains to me--I'll tell you how
This hell of apathy became so real.
My heart was spent unwisely, spent in vain.
The tears I spilled were pearls before no swine.
I kept it to myself and went insane,
For when I asked my friends for kindnesses,
They changed the subject, told me not to whine,
And I deferred to those princes and highnesses.
I snuffed out care--that licking, passioned fire.
My soul is dead. But I don't miss desire.