They flow from her mouth with such freedom and grace
Yet when she blows them in my face
They leave a sour bitter taste

I imagine asking her one day
Is that natural?
My hair? She'd question
No your lies, I'd say

But despite her vicious words
Laced in poison of the leathal kind,
The trail of hurt she's left behind,
The insecurities that she's stirred,
Boiled in an iron pot,
Tasting to make sure thier nice and hot

When she shows me her house of cards,
I never dare to pull
That would be pointless after all
I already know the toll

Even when left undisturbed
A house of cards is destined to fall
especially one stacked so tall.