We paint the roses red with the blood we have shed,

Just to symbolize the fact that we’ve bled.

We dye our eyes blue with the tears we have cried,

To swallow every last ounce of foolish pride.

We stain our hands black from the load that we carried,

To try & convince ourselves that hatchets should stay buried.

We ink our lips grey with the ashes of our happiness,

To spread the arid remains of our joy & purpose. 

We rouge our cheeks rosy,

To cover it all up, to hide that we’re empty, to pretend we’re not lonely.

We conceal emotions until our skin has browned,

To show the result of keeping our true feelings, hidden underground. 

We whiten out our minds with a porcelain glaze,

To put a shining veneer over this dark haze.

We color ourselves in; hung up, on display like gallery art.

We’re as still as statues & set in our ways, but all along we’re just starving our hearts.


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