lips crease, to fold into a snarl as the words shatter
and pierce his heart. glossy eyes slick and sharp
burrowing into his. flawless, imperfections visually scarce
a beauty but the words
they cut and marr at his soul, rupturing the bliss, the hope
he ached for. a quip, a spin on the heel, and she’s off.
blood trickles down his chin; why does broken glass taste good?