A hobby we shared.
Shades of red and pink,
A colorful expression between us two.
The last I heard your voice,
Your lips were decorated with a dusty rose.
a smile framed by the pinkish hue.
The joy such small things brought you,
The warmth your happiness brought me.
I wanted to give you all the lipsticks in the world.
The last I saw your face,
A frown was on your unmoving lips,
In a lipstick they decided for you.
You would’ve never chosen that color.
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Author:
No_one_special (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 17th, 2024 00:54
- Comment from author about the poem: This one is a bit all over the place, but I suppose it represents how I feel. Makeup was a hobby I shared with a friend, our last conversation was about lipstick in fact. Now for a little thought exercise: I’d like you to imagine looking down at the casket of your favorite person, the friend you held so deeply in your heart, seeing them in a moment where they are finally at peace. But your thoughts can only be clouded by a simple thing: that the lipstick they chose for her was something she’d never wear- and that’s how she’ll be put to rest. That was my experience at her viewing, the color they chose was something I’ve never seen her wear. It made her look well, dead. Perhaps that’s what the whole thing real. Sincerely, Nobody Special
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments1
She was clearly special for you and you knew her well. I read your author notes and felt sad. What a pity you couldn’t have chosen that final lipstick colour for her. So very hard losing friends.
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