Nursery Pink - Benjamin Moore - 2076-70

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. 

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