Futile

It seemed to last for hours
It seemed to last for days
This lady of the flowers
and her hypnotic gaze
 
philosophical thought
and ego, showers me with compliments,
my intellect, my face, the same ones he
must have peddled up and down the
streets, different girls, same reaction.
Behind the mind, there is a sex drive,
all I want is conversation, keep your
intentions pure.
But are they truly?
What do you want of me?
I just want honesty.

Friends are better friends with jealousy,
deceit, lies and beauty. Every comment
laced with bad wishes, "You're vile,
worthless,"
Why am I always trodden upon?
Because.
I am unworthy of being anything more
than a doormat, on which the graced
few get to whipe their feet, before retreating
inside to bathe in their glory. I'm not a failure.
My existance isnt futile. I get what I deserve,
I get more than I deserve, I take, take, take,
indulge, in much more than I deserve.