This is the death of me.

Stretch out the coiled phone cord, pressing the receiver to my ear only to find the dial tone has abandoned. Dead set in front of me on the dinning table lays the holster, so I return it to its rightful place. Phone calls never quite go through anymore. The hours I would spend dialing and hanging up always soured me. Only a few ever graced the other end. And what started out to be run-of-the-mill discourse, surely as the sun does set over every godless land, would come to a close with a quick statement laced with disgust. I'd sit for another moment waiting to make sure they were actually gone, sure enough. Why was it that I could never predicate the right words?
I shouldn't bother any longer. I persist. Some say, "don't call someone who's always waiting by the phone.." I can't agree.

You can't know whats tearing through someones head until you ask.

I want you to bother me. The missing voices from my life are causing a day by day decay. When no one is talking and no one is listening, what's the point in living? My words go unheard. Not even on deaf ears, no ears at all. I wish you'd call. A day, a week, a month passes, then a few months. With all the lights off I stand on the edge of the chair, the cord wrapped
tightly around my neck. With a swift push on the back of the chair I dangle. As my windpipe collapses and my eyes blur, the only thing I can mutter is "any one of you could have saved me."