Your smile must have been a mask,
that allowed you to deceive the unsuspecting.
As the cold steel cuts through my flesh,
I wonder if it was I, who handed you the sword?
So, stand there as I bleed,
and shame my imperfections.
Turn your back and fix your mask,
as my soul becomes untethered.
But, know this pain has freed me from my doubts,
that your blade was not already sharpened.