She wears red wine lipstick,
Her eyes painted black.
Like an old candle wick
She has aches in her back.
Finger nails bitten
‘Till she can’t scratch her shins.
A poem unwritten
Through lines in her skin.
She’s emptied for pleasure
Like a flask of denial,
He stole all her treasure
But was not put on trial.
Though by moonlight she warps
She is sturdy by day,
But she’s a mere corpse
Who awaits her decay.
For her bold red wine lipstick,
It comes at a price.
She may forget once
But remembers you twice.
For the thick blood red potion
That lingers her throat,
Is the blood of the ocean
That's drowning her boat.
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