When nothing is done,
No reversal endeavored,
No whispers spoken or secrets revealed,
No urgency to correct a mistake,
No reaching from necessity to amend,
Nor the irrepressible drive to see it through,
It is a bell that peals its own truth,
A cold truth.
Words are hollow,
Sentiments are empty.
There was never any caring and none now,
Only self-indulgent make believe,
To let others perceive a heart that does not beat true,
To convince them of goodness that is a mirage,
Of faith that is not followed,
Of a loving being that has no compassion.
There was no caring for him, no love, no friendship, no truth.
She does not desire the embrace of love in honesty,
Only in pretense, forced and unreal.
There was only ever condescension,
Though she who is not above him and has lain with those who slither.
She lowers herself for the attentions of those as insincere,
As false and incapable of passion as she,
And as condescending to her as she was to him,
Reaping her own false reward, her own mirage.
No, she never cared about him and she does not value passion.
And she does not want love nor loyalty nor friendship,
Does not seek to correct a wrong, to pay her debt, only feign the feeling,
To excuse herself and justify moving on in untruth,
Seeking only hollow words and empty sentiments,
Given the semblance of sincerity with shiny stones meant to lure,
To buy her body not her heart.
She does not care, a nihilist in search of a saccharine portrait of a world that isn’t.