Surprisingly Satisfied

She was weaping and the rashes on her cheeks were exposing the briteness of her teeth and the lashes from her eyes were caked with make-up from previous cries in the nighttime love hunger strikes of past mistaken lives.
Not a care but to sit and stare and she doesn't seem to notice my intent as I reach for my now greasy pent up sadness that aches to be put down into semi-intelligble forms of molded madness.