Your stare looks so empty
Inside this looking glass.
A faint finger is leaving oily traces
Beside a double of your lost facade.
Black mascara's been gently smudged
Into the hollow beneath your bulging, glassy eyes.
Your lips look pale, purple, hot in their cold conviction.
They open and close, spewing lost thoughts before they're found,
Your cheeks following suit - marching with the parade.
Does it hurt when you see yourself and what you've become?
Are you ashamed to admit that this sullenness belongs to you?
A twitch of your lips will only take you so far,
A crinkle of your eyes can only look so quaint,
A softening of brows might only change your disposition,
But you'll always know you've had it in you.
You'll always have to stop and think
You'll never be the same again -
Your face can only hide so much.