The Tooth-ed Sir

[TranquillityBase]

Limbs distorted and grim--
sprouting off from him.
A straight razor; 
if you get too close.

His teeth are so long and mishapen
because he lies through them often
Trying to cage them all in, 
but soon one breaks through.

That's when you finally see 
eyes through the myst of his body:

but you were never meant to see them.
Now you're just another lie,
to catch in his teeth.

To me, this is your poem.  I don't see what those first 3 stanzas are needed for, unless they are rewritten to match the power of these lines.

TqB