Sludge: An Update To Glitter
He looks down on me in his condescending way
Without words, he pities me,
And without words, I accept
He lives so thoughtlessly
Lips searching for other pairs
Every word is loveless appeasement
And I, a desperate clinger
His motives are shaded
Sly letters kept from my eyes
A symphony addressed to another woman
And I, the bonne poire
He humors me with fake sentiments
Quieting me temporarily
Bereaved and alone
I feel deprived
He’s tactless
Walking with quiet arrogance
He who strings me along
I find it hard not to resent
His eyes dodge mine
Shielding a passionless underbelly
I wonder how long he has loved her
Perhaps the less I know the better.
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