Red Lips - Why My Soul Bleeds Crimson
Is red just for Christmas? Is it the yuletide treat you allow you lips to bathe in from October to New Year and then drawer, dust-bitten till its annual winter concert? No, no ,no. Red is devastating, it should be caressed always on one's damp mouth curves. Take down a man or woman with a scarlet smirk, or brand a napkin with a crimson grease love heart before departing a date, the only commemoration that you were there and you were good.
Practice applying it reflection-less on a train, the envy of your grey-lipped counterparts. Or huddled in a cubicle, generously smearing for the big reveal, so you will be free from kissing fellow party-goers, or the vexatious Uncle who insists on mouth-pecking, even though you are 22 and haven't kissed your Mother on the mouth since age 12.
Red lips will get you out of a parking fine: slip on aviators and rest your tongue on the upper lip a tad too long to keep your finances in check. Red is passionate, presents thee as a human willing to cliff dive; skinny dip; throw back tequila until your throat peels; stay up all night and the reapply as the sun rolls back into view, winking at your favourite Barista as you finish the night off with an early morning cappuccino, before sleep walking home to get some well-deserved rejuvenation.
I am a proud Red-wearer. Most days my mouth is belted: Russian Red, Revlon Red, Ruby Woo. I'm so notorious for it, an Art Teacher once asked solicitously, 'are you was well?', when I decided to go to school peach-lipped that day. But it doesn't have to be red; any colour iconic to you will always keep the pusillanimous on their toes, wishing they could brave it with a shade all their own. You love Violet? prove it. What about Oxblood? Beige? Orange? Magenta? Hell, Chartreuse? Prove it!
A dear family friend succumbed to cancer a couple of years ago, only 38, she was known for a ferocious adoration of Red, so much so her funeral bouquets formed red lips. A red-lipped angel. I want to be linked to a shade, so when I finally decide I'm bored with planet Earth, those left will see it and this, 'that's Vic, right there, in a lipstick bullet!'
Practice applying it reflection-less on a train, the envy of your grey-lipped counterparts. Or huddled in a cubicle, generously smearing for the big reveal, so you will be free from kissing fellow party-goers, or the vexatious Uncle who insists on mouth-pecking, even though you are 22 and haven't kissed your Mother on the mouth since age 12.
Red lips will get you out of a parking fine: slip on aviators and rest your tongue on the upper lip a tad too long to keep your finances in check. Red is passionate, presents thee as a human willing to cliff dive; skinny dip; throw back tequila until your throat peels; stay up all night and the reapply as the sun rolls back into view, winking at your favourite Barista as you finish the night off with an early morning cappuccino, before sleep walking home to get some well-deserved rejuvenation.
I am a proud Red-wearer. Most days my mouth is belted: Russian Red, Revlon Red, Ruby Woo. I'm so notorious for it, an Art Teacher once asked solicitously, 'are you was well?', when I decided to go to school peach-lipped that day. But it doesn't have to be red; any colour iconic to you will always keep the pusillanimous on their toes, wishing they could brave it with a shade all their own. You love Violet? prove it. What about Oxblood? Beige? Orange? Magenta? Hell, Chartreuse? Prove it!
A dear family friend succumbed to cancer a couple of years ago, only 38, she was known for a ferocious adoration of Red, so much so her funeral bouquets formed red lips. A red-lipped angel. I want to be linked to a shade, so when I finally decide I'm bored with planet Earth, those left will see it and this, 'that's Vic, right there, in a lipstick bullet!'
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