Concealer

It’s a wall, that’s what it is.
A shield against the carelessness, insensitivity.
A suit of armour against surfacing memories.
The poisonous memories, of the poisonous words.

The lipstick, a blood red,
Holds promises to cover the wound.
But the wound still bleeds,
Bleeds black poison that spreads, day by day.

The mascara, a venomous black,
Like the starless nights,
The starless nights where she curls up,
And her tears cascade, the waterfall of pain smudging the black.

The blush, a beautiful pink,
Shows a fake beauty.
Fake beauty, to conceal her real pain,
and show her false front.

It’s beauty in their eyes, but a veil of deceit covering her heart,
“You look nice,” they say. “And happy.”
She nods silently, not willing, not brave enough, to tell,
To tell them that it’s all fake, and just a façade.