Stupid me to think my feelings matter,
It’s obvious that you really don’t care.
To you it’s nothing but idle chatter,
Scowling at me with your unyielding glare.

Whatever I utter, you do berate,
Yours isn’t always the ultimate word.
All that accomplishes is to frustrate,
Dysphoria that’s both shaken and stirred.

Acting lavishly as master and lord,
Your relentlessness is dreadfully flawed.
I never presume I’m someone adored,
As I emphasize that you are not God.

Perhaps you enjoy this cyclical duel,
If so—you sadist—are nothing but cruel.

“All cruelty springs from weakness.” ~ Lucius Annaeus Seneca