Look that bad, that frail.
Ok, there's stubble on my cheeks and chin,
But that's because I don't shave as much as I probably should.
There's dark circles under my eyes,
Not enough sleep, not nearly enough sleep.
But these things are merely additions,
Transient matters that can simply be erased or substituted.
I'm talking about my face....
The hallow cheeks,
The grim demeanor,
The sagging jawline,
Of a perpetual frown.
My eyes, the clear blue,
Not so clear anymore.
The light...that inner spark,
Deadened, swept away leaving twin marbles of bleak cobalt.
This cannot be me,
It's a trick of the light,
Or a play with the shadows,
Something....something to make my face look that pale, that....
It's missing something, something important.
I don't exactly know what it is,
But I can help it along,
The hunting knife is surely sharp enough.
I can close those deep, hollow, expressionless,
Eyes of mine,
And let my hands do all the work.
Never mind the passing pain, the cleanup afterwards.
I will create a new face.
A better face, a masterpiece,
That reflects not only my looks,
But how I feel inside as well.
There's no consequences in the dark.
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