Never

You think you know someone.
But in fact, you know nobody.
Everybody’s a thick shell.
Everybody’s ‘busy.’
And so you’re excused
away into nothingness.

And so I say,
I am sick of being casual with it.
I am human, after all;
doesn’t that mean something?
Not here, not anymore,
drowned, one way or…

But it’s not as if I tried,
never paid
for my mistakes or beginning.
It was free, all of it,
subject to fade,
fragile as ever.

And life goes on.
No one tried or cared
enough to understand,
including me.
I was never quite there,
though eager one time.

It reminds me of someone
who continues to this day
to be so cold,
reminding me, I am alone,
worth only what she desires,
that if I disagree

I am worthless.
Most everyone arrives,
but not me. Never.
On a critical level,
who has options, till hell
unbearable or unaffordable?

The chosen so-called progress
would go on forever.
For what?
As if the life is defined
by political maneuvering,
and lies, lies, lies.

Who always has more
reasons to be depressed,
more than hopeful.
Who else could walk away
with shrugs in his wake
besides the worthless?

Oh, yes, I’m unique,
jumping at the trivial chance,
much the same as before,
still a prisoner within myself,
wanting out, yet
denied the basic courtesy.

I can’t live,
not for real,
if there’s one thing
that never happens before I die.
And never—why?
I’ve never had a real conversation.

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