John Frost

…And I’m left deafened by her absence.
Guess I’ll never quite understand why
She lets this frail-faith fester. How I
Long for her company, her presence;
If she’d only consider my needs
Or the ways which love seemingly feeds

On fragile hearts and weaker souls.
No. She only dwells in desires
Of duplicity; and that tires
Me so: drilling sharp strategic holes
In my heart; kicking the dim-light out
Of me until crying comes about,

Or the trembling from her endless cold.
Those double-standards overarching
My sad demeanor; spirits marching
Right out of what love remains! She sold
Me nothing, but her sincere pretense
And all the suspense of steel silence.