Glass.
Cold, smooth, glossy.
Opaque or translucent.
Glass.

A curve of the lips,
The crinkling of the eyes,
Yet still,
So much like glass.

That’s what your smile is.
Beautiful,
Yet stained.
Perfect,
But defective.
Your cracks are hidden
By the illusion of light.

A spider web of lies,
Like the cracks,
Blossom from one central point.
And on and on…
They just keep going.

And you just keep smiling.

But today, your face seems different.
A dark crimson mars your lips.
It trickles down your chin.
Have you finally been shattered?
No.
The smile still remains.