She Wore Mascara Too Often
She wore mascara too often,
Her eyes would glisten and his would shrink,
Too often, the blackness of her lashes ran out like little streams on her flushed cheek,
And his face ? His face would grow stiff with pride at the mention of his deluded sense of right,
But the streams of mascara tears continued to paint her cheeks on birthdays, Valentine's and almost everyday.
He may have sprained his neck by turning away too often,
But she broke her back, would hurt and weep with the burning eyes that knew no rest,
Her eyes wouldn't fail to glisten with hope and yearnings.
Only he had the power to make it glisten with moist, warm tears.
While he ensured his eyes wouldn't do the same.
He was an artist and she the canvas,
Because she wore mascara too often!
He used no tools or brushes, but managed to draw little black streams of pain, loss and suffering on her cheeks
She wore mascara too often and her face would get whiter by day, until it was his canvas of power to supress!
Four years and many streams of teary, mascara on cheeks later, she wore it again
Her eyes glistened again without the black, little streams flowing down her cheeks
But, she little did she realize her smiles were left with him.
He may be around a corner keeping a score of streams he drew on her cheeks or the demons he made of them,
Maybe he is drawing it on a new face.
Does she also wear mascara often ?
Nevermind, but her smiles were left him which no longer meant the same
And all he is left with memory of drawing rivers of mascara on her cheeks.