Losing Touch Poem by justin byerline

Every time i look up
listen up
the music gets softer
the light gets dimmer
the feeling gets grimmer
i wonder
am i losing touch
am i gaining much
lost in the timber
how many times can you be
hated
wished dead
before it grows on you
ive found myself now more than ever saying
i hate 'myself'
'I' wish i were dead
but yet i still wake feeling unscared
as to what has been said
i guess you have to learn to feed on the hate
to the point you have nothing left to fear
because even if it is hate
at least someone feels something toward you
apathy- east to learn - if given the right person