Lips burning red,
Mimic a depraved past,
One, filled with malice,
Sorrow has been bred.
Colors disguised the misery,
Layered over her face,
She froze at the vanity,
Someone stole her grace.
The clock struck nine,
Tears of mascara stained lines,
Porcelain skin blackened by fate,
Soul crippled from bruises laced.
Smiles fade,
Mirrors break,
All that was left looking back,
Were shards of a broken face.
Wasting time was never enough,
Seeing her reflection,
She concealed her condition,
with a little blush,
She battled and lost,
Sitting patiently,
With that red gloss.
Simplistic beauty reflected,
What love didn't sustain,
Someone will see her,
Behind a veil of pain.
She hesitated to see clearer,
Red etched her fingers,
Hiding behind lip-gloss and mirrors.
January Paige is a romance ghostwriter and self−published author living in Florida with her husband. When she isn’t writing about love, she is living it. Poetry is a love she has on the side, kind of like a mistress--she tries and keep it in the dark.
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