Fake

                    His heart chimes,
                  Out of tune,
                As his tongue pounds,
                In his mouth, beating out,
Dry, meaningless rhythms.

I love you, he pretends;
                                  She fakes it right back at him.

                        They smile, grey,
                            Lipless,
                      And touch hands.

              The death of love, slipping away from vibrant hearts,
                A funeral march,
                  Banged out on children's whistles and tin drums.


              The only eyes following their clumsy dance are white,
              Blinded by the shards of broken hearts.

                  I love you, he pretends, and she turns to him,
              With milky eyes and opens her mouth,
            To fake it back to him.