I sit here in the jail cell, looking down at the floor with tears in my eyes. You may ask why I have tears. It is because of my addiction, my love, my passion for make-up. The feeling of the blush, the smooth motions on my face with the cotton, all this I adore, for I am a man, the man who likes make-up. It may seem awkward to people when you see a man like me in Victoria's Secret, observing the make-up. Fire engine red lipstick, rose colored blush, black eyeliner all this I observe. In my private time, I enjoy to beautify myself. I look into the mirror and adore myself and my looks in the make-up. Though you may think I am mad, I am not, for wearing make-up makes the world look a little more beautiful. I was an unattractive man until I discovered make-up and how good it looks on me. I make quite an attractive lady. I go to places in my make-up. I don't wear dresses, high-heels, wigs, bras and other feminine articles of clothing, but I wear mascara. People stare at me in disgust, they think I don't know but I do realize it. Just because I wear make-up does not mean I am stupid. I look back at the repulsed people, but I just ignore them and go on my way. I'm not homosexual if you think so, nor am I a transvestite, but I know all colors my lipstick comes in, which ones are new and I even made some make-up of my own. It is quite beautiful too. There is also something about the feeling when a woman puts make-up on you. I love it when the make-up is on my face. The eyeliner looks great, my lipstick is great and the blush feels wonderful. Oh how I love the make-up. Then one day I was fired from my job with a crummy paycheck. I couldn't afford my make-up. Why couldn't I afford it! I was desperate for the make-up. I then decided to go to a certain significant place. This place was a wonderland. It was the make-up factory. I broke in and for hours, all I did was wear make-up. I was the prettiest looking fellow around, for the make-up felt great. Then the toxic fumes of all the vast amount of make-up I put on me made me pass-out. The next day I wake up here, with tears in my eyes. The make-up is gone from me forever more and I crave, I want, I need the make-up.