A Cold Hard Surface

Surrounded am I by the narcissists,

The dumb sacks of carbon that abuse me.

I have harmed no one,

Yet you suffocate and deface my surface.

A place to work and sit I provide,

But the only appreciation you give is waxy slime on my underside.

You have broken, battered, and bruised me,

Still, I give you comfort.

What do you expect from me?

When will you show me your love?

I am a gift from the old to the young.

It is the young, though, that ill-treat me.

I give you support;

You beat me down.

I keep your hands, feet, and head above the ground,

A tranquil surface that still yearns for your respect.

I will not live forever,

But when I die, I will be forgotten.

No endearment, only scribbles of profanity;

That is my only thanks.