I am so much more than that for which you use me. I am not accustomed to being treated like a pair of socks, worn once (or twice) then set aside for a cleaner pair & chosen again next time through, and I don't much care for it.
You can only do to me that which I allow, I suppose. That doesn't negate your responsibility in the matter. Those things you say to keep me here - that stable you keep, to keep me in my place (at least in your own head) - all of these are losing their lustre, their power to hold me.
That delusion you hold up for me seems less than a balanced pay-off for the price you've placed upon my head. Your shine which used to blind me with its intensity is tarnishing, as time goes by - maybe the blindness is blending your colors to a greenish-black nothingness.
You are not a prize - this is no contest; I will not be relegated to second or third runner up. My time has value - it's short, shorter than you think - shorter than I wish to acknowledge, and yet you waste it. Over, and over you do.
My soul bleeds out until I lap it up myself, like the dog you're training me to be. One day, my tongue will give out & the band-aid box will be empty...and to this, you'll say nothing. My breath will cease, and your eyes will close.
I gave you the benefit of the doubt & ignored flags ablaze with a certain wrongness - you continue to give me nothing of substance to hold onto. There will come a day, mark my word, that I will look upon you as the smallest possible impact one can have on a life - less than the ripple created by a firefly upon my pond.
It's possible that one day soon, with no irritation, I will un-remember the feel of your hands, the softness in your eyes when you call me to you - when you remembered you need me for something other than ...this.