IF

If tomorrow you called me

and my phone was not answered

would you worry I

was alright?

If my cell phone rang

from you dialing my number

until it went completely

dead, would you think it prudent

to start to worry?

If you came to my house,

found my trucks in the drive,

the mailbox over

flowing with papers and junk,

would you still stand

knocking at my door?

If you knocked and the door

gave way to the pressure

of your hand, would you step

into the darkness

to see what was

the matter?

If you found me curled

in a fetal position back in the fartherest

corner of my cold

dank house,

wide eyed frustration bulging

from my face, matted hair knotted

and frayed as I trembled,

scampering to escape the light

that you carried in your

hand,

would you feel ashamed for the part

that you played in putting me

there

or

would you rant and rave laying

blame on all but your

self and walk away

(leaving me still in this state) to

wreak havoc

on innocent parties in order to

satisfy your  twisted

indifference.