Selfie

on her lips I drew the lines of age;

a self-made portrait smiling in quiet rage;

of dust and darkness I coloured her eyes,

of shades lined the spectrum of lies;

forever captured in the prime of youth;

there, crumbled below this layer of truth

that every man paint a heart,

yet brush against the broken shards;

powdered pigment blisters in the flash,

her character smoking away in the ash;