feel the press-
sure of my lips-
stick

weighing down
my lips and
keeping me
from speaking

the layer of wax
that seals
my lips-
thick

mascara and eyeliner
make me
wide-eyed and bright
dry out my eyes
make them burn
stuck lashes
glued shut

the too round rouge
on my cheeks
gives a blush
not felt
smiles of wax
and layered colour
carefully applied
let me hide

it is not
yet that time
of night when
my make-up
is smeared and shifting
as though it becomes
restless from remaining
frozen in place  

when staring
in the mirror
nothing
will fix the
stumbling drunk
erupting beyond
the glass

oh my beauty,
I say
to my image
in wax,

I cannot see
my reflection
any more