Black High Heels

She’s just been

            Sh

AT

            Tt

Er

                        ED—

If you want to say it like that.

She was lied to and

Bruised,

Emotionally abused—

Smile nothing more than a machine

Stripped down to the gears.

But she’s got no shoulder on which to wipe her tears

So she doesn’t let them free—

Ignores them

And swears that soon they’ll be gone.

She’s putting on lipstick—

The perfect shade of

            Fuschia

That one in ten

Million

Can get away with.

The one he

            Loved—

He said.

And those heels sure do

Make her feet feel good.

A fancy dress and a perfect picture:

The perfect fix for the

Perfectly split heart.