Barren

My lips are cracked and bleeding,

swollen and bruised from all the times I forget to breathe.

I wear lipstick,

the deep maroon kind,

to provide a guise of composure.

One of stability.

Weakness lies beneath.

Bone tearing at skin, releasing color onto a pale pallet.

Some days, this color runs down my neck and pools in my collar bones.

Every once in a while

a tear will drop into the pool

disturbing the peace,

sending it down my chest. 

A trail painted red

cutting through the wastelands of my body.

I see myself.

Broken.