You speak in volumes.
Volumes of loud, loud, and a little bit louder.
You speak these volumes only when I come around.
I heard you speaking to your family,
and **** that is heart breaking to hear.
When your voice echos around my ears,  
Why you sound so lovely it's hard not to fall in love with you again.
When you speak to me it's hard not to be heart broken.
Because with each word you bite your own tongue.
Some how screaming out other words is only what you can do.
I speak the same words as I always spoke.
That's who I am a master painter of vocabulary; that never left his creed
Yet the artist whom I fell in love with only has 2nd rate living room-- pieces to throw around these days.
I'm building works and conveying such honesty that I can only find. While I'm in the gallery with you.
No matter the beauty I can build; some how you never see me build it.
I construct such things right before your eyes.
Although you only tell me they are lies.
Maybe the daunting shadows of last gallery shine too bright.
That when you compare the two.
My best lines obscure the ones orchestrated before you now.
I open our last gallery for a viewing,
and you shine so bright.
You become my sunshine like you were then,
and your glow blazes childish hope into my veins,
but then I realize that, our past is all you see these days.
That the future doesn't hold special things anymore.
As the gates close to our viewing, obviously the sun no longer shows.
I sit amongst our living room art; you have created once more.