No Cover Up, No Photoshop

No Cover Up, No Photoshop

She woke up to the metallic taste of the red liquid in her mouth.
Head to toe, her body felt sore, damaged, washed-out.
Attempts to move attracted tears like unlike poles on a magnet.
Unending waterworks that burned as it streamed down to the earth.

Tomorrow come, so sorrow goes away.

No longer gleeful but consumed by grief.
Safety and self-worth now make-believe.

Memories shattered by the ever-present souvenir.

Scars engraved like tribal marks; spread all over.

A piece of her constantly fades away.

The heavens, far from calm. She could see hails of thorns.
Surely angels are evil. Cos, they hurt just like demons.

Pain has morphed her skin harder than the armadillo’s.

She has become obsessed to inflicting loss.

So, pieces of you and I slowly decay.

But what must be today to push sorrow away?

Today, to make sure she does not pass away.

The way out is not cover-up, not photoshop.

The right path is listen, action and follow-up.

By Sylvanus Nabena

Twitter: @slynabena