Lipstick
Lipstick tube is passed out by the vanity,
it's metallic scratches are a connect-the-dot story
about all the days it's been devoured in front of a mirror,
her skin is the color of ugly,
the type of icing that cracks like knuckles in the winter,
and bleeds like the lips of a people who try to peel away skin
like they're peeling away worries,
it's the brand that sneaks onto teeth
and dribbles onto chin,
fades out as quickly as rent scraped off of a menu,
working the day shift and the night shift
to reapply, reapply,
until replaced.
YOU ARE READING
Paint Us Gray: Part 2
Poetry(This is part 2; please read part 1 first!) Rejection. Betrayal. Heartbreak. Grief. Unfortunately, we've all had a swallow, some more than others, of this bitter brew. This is just a sliver of my chapter that is a part of this world's grand nar...
