She wears her smile like a sacrament,
golden and sharp, a holy lie.
Honeyed laughter stitched to her lips,
fangs tucked gently behind the prayer.

Her eyes don’t agree with each other.
One burns like a dying sun,
the other drowns in ocean-deep silence.
They never speak at the same time.

There is a mask beneath the mask-
layered skin, painted warmth,
a careful geometry of "I’m fine".
Cracks sealed with charm and firelight.

Touch her cheek and you’ll feel it hum,
the tension of everything unsaid.
A tremor buried under beauty,
a scream taught to sing instead.

She learned early how to be adored,
how to turn ache into spectacle.
How to swallow grief until it glittered,
until even she forgot the taste.

But in the quiet
when the lights dim and the room exhales
the smile loosens its grip,
and something feral presses at the ribs.

Not rage.
Not sorrow.
Something holy and ruined.

She doesn’t want to be saved.
She wants to be seen
without the gold,
without the grin,
without the offering.

To lay the mask down gently,
like a blade on an altar,
and breathe
without performing the wound.

Until then, she smiles.
Until then, she shines.
Until then, she bleeds in colors
no one thinks to question.


Art by AGRIXXX