What number

I have never just called you because I wanted, or needed to talk.

Even on the verge of suicide,

I do not call you until it is convenient for you.

 

My walls are tired of hearing me sob.

My bed is weary of holding my pain. 

I am wilting beneath the weight of sadness.

 

Yet I wouldn't care to hear my voice either.

This poem is about: 
Me

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