If i hide my face, she can know i'm not here. She knows i am, but if i try, and can withdraw. Detatch myself from her television, from her complaints ("'cause it makes me feel better"). So long as i avoid her gaze, if i captivate myself, then she'll ignore me. Unnotice me. She's done it all before.

She gets home and my music is playing. I ask her how it went - she'd use it on me otherwise - and she tells me all she can squeeze out. When she's done, she turns on the t.v., then calls up her boyfriend. Oh, i'm sorry, her "man". Said only so by her, keep in mind. Finishes up, when she's told him all she can squeeze out, and he's done the same. Light a ciggerette. Turn up the television, obviously.

I'm going upstairs. To my room. Where i shall not be poisened. I'd say i'm going to bed, but i will surely watch a movie or two. But, i'm not. I will, instead, sit. And tap. Move my hands and channel these merges of letters.

I am not gifted; i am merely a medium of thought.