dark red

i looked into the mirror
picked up my mother's lipstick
- a gift from a friend from somewhere not here -
and smeared it onto my lips
my lips

my lips are ordinary
they will probably not be described as being luscious
or pretty
or voluminous
or thin even
they are just ordinary

dark red
the color of love
and blood
and bleeding
and for someone who has bled continuously
the color of discomfort
of life they say
of death as well

dark red
smeared onto my lips
ordinary

i think about it
but i refuse to act on it
breathe
i tell myself



pause

ok.

start over.

i looked into the mirror
and saw nothing
and then a flicker
of thought

not of you
don't be so vain
vanity and apathy do not go along so well

not of you
and your pseudo anarchist-radical-liberal-apathetic-energy
not of you
and your skepticism
not of you
and your poetry
not of you
and your deep-rich-deep-rich-deep-rich-melancholy
because like i said previously
depression is a word we do not use
casually

let me start over again.
this is not working.

i looked into the mirror
and saw myself
i decide to sleep with the lipstick on
maybe i will dream of
dark red

i look into the mirror
and dream.