Poem: A Visit With a Lover

Openly wounded
flaying alive
she cannot give you the love
that you need.
Leave her house immediatly!
Run away and live your
miserable life alone.
I have no place here.
Not feeling loved
or cared for at all
I cry in her chair
and hate myself
for being so weak.
Hate myself for being
so tearful.
Hate myself,
for feeling this way again.
Every time I come here
she's taking care of herself
so she doesn't care about me.
I know this about her,
but it bothers me still.
My dreams are shattered.
I cannot visit her here;
she can no longer visit me
in the city.
My tears fall openly down my face
and she does nothing to help.
So I resent her
and hate her
for not helping me now,
when I could use her love the most.
Pulling further away inside myself,
farther away from her,
closer to my pain and sadness.
"Suicide,"
the wind whispers peacefully,
enticingly,
causing me to cry again
at the thought
and how attractive it always is.
she doesn't really love me.
It's not fair to blame someone
for not trying hard enough.
Is it?