1.2.17 // #36 – i rub off the makeup of last year

i wipe away last year’s make-up
rubbing the skin raw
until the crimson from lipstick
stains my fingers with a different kind of red

i pick and choose another hue
with a stranger tone

or at least
i try

because it will always be the same color
the same darkness
because i can’t stand anything else
a spectrum of colors
though it imbues my eyes
with wonder of a billion types
will not chase me
from the circle i have drawn around myself

i can try all the shades i want
they will all end in
frowns imitating a poor facsimile of a rainbow

 

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