Concealer eye-bags
In a slightly wrong shade
Instead you think it's more
Translucent.
Like they can see through you
And your thin-lipped
Half-starved smile
That you sell for compliments
You don't like the school pasta
You prefer watching thin, strangled hair,
Which you still insist is ginger,
Clog the drain.
You live in the laughter
Coming alive when they choke
On another joke you told
About suicide.
I love you.
I hope you know that.