Atone

In the ephemeral moments between subtle misery
 We bite our tongues to avoid our discomfort
 We slowly attune to glances exchanged
 In place of benevolent words that could help soothe the aches
 We behave in a way that makes us believe we've grown unfamiliar
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 But the frail disposition of love is so swiftly displaced
 When left to endure the violence of doubt
 
 Slow to atone
 A voice I don't hear as my own
 Hollow apologies
 The longing for condolence
 Is relegated to no more than velleity
 We reprise our role as strangers
 We rehearse small resentments when in isolation
 But miss every cue when stood under the lights
 Quietened tones to conceal our frustrations
 The same melancholia every night
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 And in our indifference we're quick to surrender
 The passion we'd lit to help navigate each other
 
 A stoic hand dismantles love
 And before the light is even extinguished
 We've reprised our roles as strangers
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 Slow to atone
 A voice I don't hear as my own
 Hollow apologies
 The longing for condolence
 Is relegated to no more than velleity
 We'd rehearse small resentments when in isolation
 Then choke on the words when reciting our lines
 Never perceptive to our situation
 The same melancholia every night