The nursery pink lay with sheen on her lips
matching the flush on the apples of her
cheeks.
Her eyes were contoured
with smoky shades of cloudy carbons,
mauves.
Her golden, luscious locks
twirled into loose ringlets
framing her high cheekbones,
complementing her structured nose.
With every step she took
rhythmic click-clacks pervaded the runway.
She blew kisses,
her mouth a flirtatious pout.
Long, voluminous lashes
decorated her eyes like curtains.
Protecting her vision from the spotlight
Lighting her coquette costume.
As she posed for the audience
she lay her hand across her chest.
Her fingers trembled
from the frigid impact.
When she arrived home she hurried
to the bathroom,
used about 20 wet-wipes
to clean about 20 pounds off her face.
The skin at the base of her lashes ached
when she ripped the fake extensions.
She swept the nursery pink off her lips,
though her mouth still remained stained.
The bronzer on the sides of her face faded,
her high cheekbones were no more.
Her nose drooped slightly to the left,
her skin revealed itself to be a blanket
of scars.
As she showered
she placed her manicured hands
upon her chest.
Her fingers trembled
from the frigid impact.
She witnessed the developing of icicles
on her fingers.
Tears streamed down her eyes
falling upon her chest.
The second the water droplets hit
her chest,
they transformed to ice.
She examined the reflection in the mirror,
comparing with the reflection
six hours ago.
But still her chest
remained frigid.
No amount of makeup
can mask an ugly heart.
