stay still.

Removing the mug from my lips, I think about how delightful it would look to have a stain strewn across the cylinders side.

I write "Purchase Lipstick " in my agenda, knowing I will not buy it otherwise.

Or, at all, really.

Lipstick, has always seemed a hassle to me.  I would never want my mark brightly pasted on the cheek of the man I slept beside the previous night. Nor, would I want it smudged across my incredibly large smile.

Oddly enough, I continue to contemplate the thought of me with cherry lips, on a daily basis.

As if, there is nothing else to think about.

So, I jot it down, while staring out the window at this gloomy December, two a.m, 

the rain patting my decision on the back.

Then, the faintest sound of a fire engine is drown out by incessant screams from howling woman.

Will I be too painted with a coat of red disguising my otherwise pale pout?

I think of these whores, barking at the moon, suffocating the loudest sounds of the city, with their sloppy seconds mouths covered in caked on colour.

I close the window motionlessly, and the rain has stopped encouraging me.

I feel if I am deliberating a product this closely, I've been awake too long.

Shut the screen, close the critics tight.

I could be reading about London in the Sixties or Unknown species of Iguanas.

I could be, somewhere, very, different.