Praise She couldn't suffer

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He tore her apart through praise,
not an uttered word was not praise,
Yet she felt the lacerations,
as encomiums continued unabated;
Till the wounds consumed her;

The accolade at its crescendo,
and then she could suffer it no longer.

For he praised her for what she had not,
for what she craved, yet could not possess,
Every praise was a deprecation for her,
while the fool was lost in his panegyric reverie;

The pang of each peaean,
till it was beyond feeling;

While all she wanted from him was just the truth of understanding.