More peer editing for my poem?

Hey! I was wondering if any of you had any more suggestions for my poem. If you could critique it, that'd be great, thanks!

-- Tori

“I sometimes cannot find the words for what I feel.” – Billy Budd

From His Perspective, Maybe

Silence.

Always silence.

From the time the sun’s rays slash my eyelids in early morning

To the time I gaze at the slit of moonlight

That pierces the jagged edges through the shades.

Colors chop the light,

The halting, uneven movement of her lips,

The pixels of blood red and tainted pink.

They tell me that the mouth forms words

But I only know this from a priori sources,

Never a posteriori experiences.

In my mind, I can almost imagine

A different life,

A different me...

A different world in which I can

Almost smell the sounds

That exit the sharp angles of her mouth,

Almost feel the noises

That shove the air molecules around;

If only.

They say that silence is “deafening.”

One word.

One word, one meaning.

One word, one meaning, one million shattered feelings.

They don’t know how much it hurts.

I wish I could explain how caustic, how biting

The meaning behind that word is to me.

She, tireless, patient,

Sympathetic, but not empathetic.

Never empathetic.

I love her.

But, sometimes,

I resent her.

She can hear.

I was a cracked, unfilled glass cup before.

Then she sloshed into me

All the words I know

And she overflowed me

With all the possible gestures I can use

To express myself.

But she doesn’t know.

I may be full to the brim,

But I am still broken, lonely and empty.

And when anyone gets too close, I cut them

On my jagged edges.

And so, even with years of gaining more words,

More twists of the fingers,

More bends of the arms,

More turns of the hand,

I still don’t know enough

To express myself.