I hear your words. As you speak.
Excuses. Of stories. You concoct. For this. Or that. Or any other.
I see your words. As you voice them.
As they bounce. Off the walls. As they hit. Across the room.
I never even. Heard you say. The words. You think. I want to hear.
For they came not. From your heart.
So save them. For someone. Who will believe you.
For I don’t. Buy.
Your stories. Excuses. Attempts at words.
So what of them. They are nothing.
Just syllables. Of alphabets. Bunched together. To form squiggles. Of sounds.
That come across.
As your stories.
As your excuses.
As your heart.
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