Lipstick on a PigMature

Lipstick on a pig 

Is still a pig, you venomous weed in delusional 

Gardens of roses, thorns knotted around your 

Scrapyard heart; your lungs pump out slander,

Pander to your chess-piece people; melt them with

Your greasy, glossy grin, you wear too much of that 

Princess-warpaint. 

---

Sometimes I want to use that pout as a punchbag, 'til your

Ivory teeth pierce my knuckles like prized diamonds; I'm 

Harvesting you like a second-hand heart when you have 

None; I'm stripping you down, all your gift-wrapped layers of 

Tissue and Versace, 'til you're as raw and naked as me. 

---

Humiliation won't look good on you, you can't pull it off as if 

It were the junkie-look,

With too much cheap eyeliner; you have so much grace to fall from,

I'll kick you to the dirt from your pedestal; you need to work on 

Your attitude, 'cause lipstick on a pig

Makes a hell of a mess. 

The End

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