My face falls now,
just as the leaves litter
the ground each year.
In a breath-taking death
orange yellows blanket
the Earth.
Barren trees fully
blossom back
at spring.
I spring no more.
In a slow-ugly death,
my hair turns to
weathered wire.
Cheekbones carve a cave
cruelly in the side of my face.
Lipstick won’t replenish
any trace of
red rosy rushing
Lips.
Violet veins pave
ruthless roads
across my skin
as perky peach transforms to
ghost pale pessimism.
Why are you painting me?
Why do you enjoy portraying
decay,
dismay,
my dissatisfaction?
I will not smile.
You foreshadow images
Of worm food.
Shine gone.
Rot on.
Author notes
Written November 10th, 2005
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WOW. This was amazingly done. The images were so unique and tearful. I enjoyed this very much...maybe because....Ive been feeling that way lately. Sorry you have gotten down though. Keep writing.
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