She feels too little He feels too much. They meet in the middle Only one mimics touch. He says he loves She says that too. He asks, "do you mean it?" She replies, "of course I do."
He compares her soul to the beauty of life. She makes him a sandwich Convinced it will suffice. He grabs her hand and places a ring She smirks and shrugs and says, "sure thing" He wants an argument and a play of words She looks out the window as nothing is heard.
He brings home gifts and recited affection She portrays acceptance and calls him perfection. She is the poetry that pours out of his mind He is the man she chose to pass the time. Hand in hand they both look fine. Others envy the farce, they shine.
One believes it true The other knows it's a lie. The sociopath and the poet A oddity at best He loves her more with each second passed And she can only pretend.
I was reading an article titled "How to Tell if You are Dating a Sociopath." So of course I accidently stumbled upon inspiration for another write.