you make your face a grave to bury the fingerprints of your lover : you smear makeup over a broken face. the world wears ballads on your wrist each time you pass. you smile, a man searches for salvation in your eyes he tells you his dead mother walks inside your body but you writhed his proposals. you know your face is a facade. you'll fall into what love has wedged you into when night trumpets. but, is this what it's to love to keep gifting a broken body to a man who breaks it?