the telling

Your empty voice was full of lies 
I told by tone and pause 
I told you you don't have to try 
which was a lie, of course 
I knew just what you wanted, once 
You still must want something 
And so you weave your one-strand web 
to leave me dangling 

I have to hold my breath 
to keep it steady, everything 
depending on the finest lines
your empty voice can sing 
You had to make it beautiful 
It's effortless, for you 
Pure habit and routine, and I 
expect no less, and
nothing true

And so I don't know what I get, 
once you've delivered yours. 
So I dive in as if all true, 
and see what it supports. 
And if between us, we bear up 
and hold another day -
I guess you gave as good as true, 
and nothing left to say.