Red Lipstick

We've got to make amends with what's good.

Comfortability must be found in what's good rather than what is familiar.

Familiarity is what killed the cat, not curiosity.

Curiosity never killed anyone but the ignorant and unaware.

Understood?

Standing in front of the mirror with nothing, not even her dignity,

all that was visible were her body's stories of everything but triumph and trophies.

The Venus's power no longer warmed her,

and no man's touch devalued her more than her own.

Death seemed too easy, yet living too complicated.

Staring back at her were her father's eyes,

only a bit lighter in shade, but darker in substance.

She'd learned to live like him, too;

spending countless nights nearly transparent in front of a crowd

feeling nothing but what the powder allowed.

The powder allowed so much.

Oh, the chemical monster's golden chariot of endless possibilities and kite rides above the clouds.

Temporary euphoria was better than none.

"I'd rather be a sinner with tall tales to tell,

than a saint with regrets of no falls being fell."

In red lipstick read the mirror.

But being a sinner with regrets was never part of the plan.