He Looks Away

But you never said it, did you?
And you never made a sound,
and the words that passed your lips
were always only partly true.
So, there's no one left to blame
except that sorry, misshapen sap
whose empty eyes gaze back
from behind your mirror's cracking pane.
I picked up the pieces that I found,
but they didn't fit anywhere anyway.
And falling, they landed and
looked more whole apart than as part.
Of a larger hole
where passions are misplaced,
perfectly prim paradoxes
play with forced-quiet tongues.
It rages in your skull until you burst
or tear the seams that suck you in.
One day, all the things you should have said
will poison you and take your breath.
Folly's in the silence reached
when fear controls you voice,
when Love bats his eyes, but you refrain
because you swear he looks away.