She leans back, head rested head bumping up and down like waterfalls that sometimes loose their magical glow and get confused.
Her sunglasses rest restrain her glowing face like the headlights that reflect from her eyes hidden from sight she feels the creases of the plastic in her cheeks curling impressions like footprints on the sand into her jawline
like kisses she thinks that hang too long on the cusp of her morning breath.
She had searched all morning for the make up that fit her botched skin tone her arms had been a canvas of experimental design like that painting she sometimes pretends to stare at
she is artist she murmurs as she looks at that vase which seems so
flat.
She wears the make up not because she wants to be or feel beautiful, she does not want the sunbeams to shine from under her fingernails or her lips to light up like christmas baubels, she coats it as penance for a past life for the craggled hag that has no voice in her sternum its oldened fingers tap on her waistline like measuring utensils.
She wears the make up to cover up her morning breath
the morning sunlight had cast a brutal gleam upon her showing all her dark spots
she wears make up as penance for the devilish thoughts that bounce like raindrops off her steel roof
of the whispered mercies of the voiceless hag that hangs in her noosed throat
she wears penance like its a beautiful blush
like drifted snow has coated her skin and she is now destroyed
she covers up the crinkled muesli bar hag that sings old folk tales in her lips