She looks beautiful just like the pink paint,

on her nails modelling her less damaged,

every freckle on her skin, dark under her eyes,

are the evidences of her sleepless nights,

she pretends to have merriment, but taste of wine,

doesn’t lie. She finally wipes her promising red lipstick,

and screeched. Her reflection in an empty wine bottle,

revealed the sadness present inside her soul,

her phone rang again, with another failed voice mail,

and its seventeenth time she smashed her phone,

goodbye never existed in her dictionary,

and sadly patience too.

she saw his name on her breast,

carved artistically from blades,

which fucked her leftover night,

all again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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