Running out of smiles
I'm betrothed to secrecy...
The type that keeps a dagger stuck in my throat till my gasp becomes as mute as my self-harm thoughts.
For pain is inscribed on the edges of my lips,
Waiting to give you a sip in exchange for comfort.
The pixels of my hurts aren't visible on my face- which only expresses Picassoed Deceit of a farce called happiness.