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These eyes are daggers they stab and sever.
To see what makes you tick, a switch? A lever?
To see if your real, genuine, or fake like pleather.
To see if it's worth the tears, or our last endeavor.

These ears they hear every word you say.
They hear only but truth and throw the rest away.
They hear the tremble in your voice that keeps the lies at bay.
If they percept lies, for your sake you best pray.

This mouth it speaks but the truth you see.
It expresses my love, and fear, my plea.
You can hear it cry, if you listen closely.
The words it holds back, my only fee.

These hands they write words with no restraint.
Paper sitting readily, patience of a saint.
With hands so rough, and words so daint.
This poetry is art, my strokes of paint.