Face.
Your beautiful face.
Your teeth like railway tracks running along your soft and tender gums soaked in every victims scream.
Your lips slowly peeling away the skin and unleashing your inner words you never spoke to me.
Your eyes glistening as they pour down the monsoon of pain's cry.
Your hair strands so sharp that they cut through my wrists and leave me with the blade of sigh in my hand.
Your nose inhaling the scent of my spit as I bite into your fingernails and feed you my whisper.
Your skin like a laugh, the most glorious of its kind you can get, yet once broken can never be quite the same.
So I hold in my hand the blade again and cut it through this mask of echoes you wear.
I cut and your blood turns into a vivid chant yet I see no face.
There is no face to a voice.
Yet I see you.
