Your empathy is but a trinket
bought on an online marketplace
a bauble made of plastic
cost nothing to make, is worth nothing
you sell it
like it’s something to cherish
but you don’t understand
what I’ve been through
you feel for me
yet you ignore me in a crowd
I know I am going to see you crying
in the front row
at my funeral
during a moving eulogy
telling everyone how you wish
we could have been friends.
A heathen poet 