I feel
less volatile
less awake.
I've been biting my lip
livid.
Wearing my own blood as lipstick,
tears as mascara.
Whilst solidarity whispers dark words into my ears.
Meanwhile,
the crowds
they tell tales
of how pretty
I look.

Barren eyes, bleak and lifeless,
         in the end,
         that’s how he left me,
         feet half buried into the ground,
         breathing in the pain,
         while drowning in his silence.