Avon Calling

Every time she shuts her eyes, She always sees his face. So after another sleepless night, She proceeds to start her day. Give her twenty minutes, And forget the blood-shot eyes. Thanks to our friends at Avon, They’re nothing but well-defined. The mask is sheer if not utter perfection, Because it’s what they want to see. Ah, that allusive aspiration, The one that simply cannot be. Perfection only exists, In a world where it cannot. Because how do you have perfect, If you don’t know what you’ve got? The mask was a gift, Presented in the womb. She learned to use it often, And learned to use it soon. There’s no duress to don it. She knows she’s not alone. And this buoyant band, Is why the burden’s her own. She’s not dying for her sins, Or some other selfless act. To be completely honest, It’s nothing but simple tact. What use is her pain? What good are her tears? Could she mend the world’s sorrow, If it only knew her fears? The end is not in her line of sight, But the horizon can’t go forever. She’s overturning the puzzle pieces, Beginning to put them back together. She'll borrow the faith they have in her, And know the storm must subside. Until then, it’s porcelain skin, Don’t forget the well-framed eyes. If everyday is a battle, Then everyday she’ll fight. This time she won’t back down, And pray she sleeps tonight.