You’re not hiding; he’s blind

July 5, 2014

Every time you ruddy your cheeks,
you muddy the cracks in your skin.

Pinch your eyelids tighter,
maybe it’ll be better if you’re blind.

At least your bibles won’t feel guilty
you replaced them with a shrine to him.

Your tea by the fire doesn’t warm your hearth;
it’s cold when you look at it.

He can see through the rouge
you’re unhappy.

Stop hiding.

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