Twenty Two.

These graceful lies
spill from lips that burn
as they graze the skin on my neck
but I can't hear them,
can't detect the mask
that hides your
crooked smile
even as my fingers slide
over razor-sharp edges,
because you're beautiful
and I love you,
and those are blinding words,
denial words
when things get tough,
and I know that
but I can't look you in the eye
because I don't want to know
and have to give you up.

I'd rather keep you here,
feel your warmth,
at least for now,
than force myself
to accept the truth.