Concealer1 min 57 1 min 57
A pink crescent moon,
That deliberately tried,
To point upwards,
With shades of burgundy flowing down,
Through the endless craters.
Three grey lines,
Followed like shooting stars,
On the Left side of the lacerated moon,
Hanging on a beige sky.
A universe of purple,
With a cold eye in between,
Bled crystal like tears,
That sent shivers down my spine…
"Put some more under the eyes", She said.
The tangled hair held back a scream,
The Art of hiding abuse with make-up.