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.