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Face Wash
December 11, 2013
Maybe if I washed my face in the morning,
I wouldn’t be so sad throughout the day.
The depression from the moonlight would go down the drain
along with
tear-streaked mascara
words written in lipstick that should have never been spoken
cigarette smoke clogged in my pores
kisses on the tip of my nose from stolen lovers.
But since I do not,
Days of depression are stuck beneath my skin.
Secrets that makeup remover can’t erase are trapped.
And it’s all
continuing
tumbling
rolling
spinning
swirling
constantly
in a vicious cycle.
© Tiana D., Monument, CO
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