You spread my patience thin
Like a pitiful portion of butter across stone cold toast.
I try to rationalise your ignoring as an ignorance, on your part, of my feelings,
But I can find no reason for your blunt refusal to see my presence
Other than your abhorance and snobberence of myself.
I stress, I fluster, I sink into a musty, grey place,
Where only more twisted light and thoughts can reach me.
The minutes are placed upon on a stretching rack
And torturously drawn out by your negligent inaction.
I convince myself that this kettle will not boil if I watch,
But distraction does little to soothe my itch.
Some little voice in the back of my head knows
That you will have a perfectly reasonable excuse
To stand me up.
I can see you are here, yet you refuse to acknowledge
To give a hello,
And I wonder why I subject myself
To the trying trials
Of a facebook conversation