The pressure of the blade
so harshly cleaves
me in two,
the black jagged edges
it imprints on
each surface
of expression,

The Love
in my peace,
The Hate
in my weakness,

Fright will
rip through this face
with his fist,

tear off the blemishes
and misconfiguration,

leave it a
“justice-beautiful,”

Staring into the mirror
with admiration
and an
uncontrollable
lack in forgiveness,

“You're lookin' good these days.”
“I hate you, you ugly *******.”