The movement of your lips does not match what you say.

You feed my hunger for attention,

but when confronted directly about affection,

you turn your cheek

you open your mouth,

then close your eyes to the lies you speak.

Then speak to me kind words that make me all numb

to shards of indifferent glass you hurl,

shards that cut but do not sting

until the sweetness of your voice bitters with the wear of time,

so bled out and desperate I beg for more kind words

and foolishly believe you are out of glass.