simple yet sadistic

The merrier the stare in her,

The more the merry went

this melancholy godsend

But dead in me

And meant to be

The things she never said

And I still know what she meant

Eyes that gaze through eyes that don't

I'm unconvinced that they still won't

And she's still just looking through me

She thinks she sees right through me

She sees more than she thinks

Quiet and cold

Silence of the soul

These words won't be forgiven and there's nothing there to mend

Attentive yet so distant

the more prepared to care for her

the less she'd dare intend

the present playful torment

alight with words

so empty when they're heard

prognosis of the spurned

her paranoia's earned

just as I was warned