POURED SOOT,

For i am to blame you say, for the bruises that my concealer couldn't cover. For the scars that would swell. For the scabs that would bleed on the covers. For i am to blame you say. And now that i blame you, i will create more. So then i can blame you for more blood, swollen scars, and my concealer that is too weak even after so many layers that it starts to look like dough. 

I'm so sorry. 

You would say after your fire burns out. After the curtains draw back from your eyes to reveal your soul. You see what you have done. You feel the heat from your palms, the pool of sweat.

My swollen face. Tear ridden lashes. The slobber all over my face mixed with your spit. 

Nothing i could say would make anything better. 

Eventually, i turned off the light. 

I'm Draped with the most rich silk, made of diamonds, pearls,  I glow. 

But as an actor, you poured soot to the bottom of my feet. Glued my mouth. Tightened my collar so tight I couldn't breath.

And, honestly, i had forgotten. I wonder what the sun feels like on my now colorless skin. 

Oh how i earn to just get one little whiff of the air.

sometimes, id find myself at the window, lying to myself. 

'' THE AIR. SO PURE. SMELL OF FRESHLY CUT GRASS. PEOPLE. "