detached

Where were you when I was dying?
Now that I am all but  (merely nearly) dead
you mock me
beg my assistance
to mitigate
the dark fall-out 
of your fantasies.
Blind to my bleeding, and your own, 
how can anything I say
reach you anyway?
Return your pleading to your
silent Lord.
Leave me to my resolutions.
Strangers all these years,
I feel no desire
for meeting
in your dream.