Week 61

It's funny how landfills
Are made into beautiful grounds,
Golf courses,
Man made rolling hills.

I guess that's why sometimes
I put eyeliner on,
Darken my lids,
Give my lips that extra pout.

My heart is a voluminous
Collection
Of everyone's grief.
The thing about grief
Is that it doesn't decay,
You have to find some way
To incinerate it.
I searched and I searched
For some other way,
Turns out the only way
Was through a magic spell
Lost in the secret garden
When they ate the fruit of the tree.
How could they have known?

So it sits and it collects
And every day is
One more attempt
To let a little more of it go.
Until then,
It sits,
It stays,
And I cover it up with a little bit of
Black liner above my eyes,
A curl or two in my hair,
And my neverending smile.