Nothing

Written in a sad time about destructive self image

Nothing is how it ought to be
I feel so cold inside this skin
It all just seems so fake
My blackened eyes and painted nails
Blindly hoping some colour can heal the hurt in me
Red lips and swirling fabric shawls
Oh so pretty outside but what can they really do?
If you peered inside my chest all you’d find is a sickly mess

Under my skin dark feelings ooze
All the concealer in the world can’t mask it
My sorrow bleeds through any clothing
My make up cracks til perspiring grief is hastily wiped away
No matter how I may fight it; nothing is how it ought to be
Any beauty resting on me becomes drenched by what’s inside my chest