Hollow Man

I have been passed over and ignored so many times that I begin to wonder if they are right, if there is something in me whose existence I deny that is lacking, if I myself do not deserve to be. I am so tired of being asked what I want. Isn't it obvious that no-one knows what they want, that wants are transitory and self-destructive, that wanting and not getting is the very definition of the human experience? It is the lack of wanting that makes me question myself, a lack of a desire for anything other than a good screw and a warm bed. I disappear, I wrap myself in her, subordinate myself to her, and in the night I turn away from her, turning my back on the emptiness I see reflected in her eyes.