Turning her eyes to me in a greyed misery.
And I let out a whimper of exhaustion,
grievance I give you in the name of
hypocrisy.

Her lips, curled, curtly speaking, "I
love you so," and my head
aching from the weight of
revulsion.

A lie takes time to vindicate
itself; I hold it blameless.
And she waits for me to express
contrition.

But these words I jot, blatantly,
calculatedly clichéd, will
not, shall not give in to her
self-regard.

And she holds me to my blackened word
being lied one thousand times before,
and clumsily she trusts it to be
sincere.
 
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