Second Best Smile

He has spilt your face down the middle
and you contort your features
into a hundred stitch smile
bursting at the seams.
You grin and bear it
like your mother told you to,
your mouth an open wound
with all your lies seeping out
and pooling round your lips,
red like a harlot's kiss
on a white pressed linen collar.

He won't leave her you know it,
but you smile so big and aching
when he comes begging for you,
you don't care.
Not about her or the stitches or the booze,
not about anything as long as you can bear it
like your mother told you to.
So grin darling, that second best smile of yours,
so fake and bright.

a/n: Moved from Love Poems for the Brokenhearted.