Lipstick Stain Is A Work Of Art Lyrics นิยาย & เรื่องราว

A tube of red lipstick caught my eye. I twisted it open and dragged it across my lips without bothering to stay inside the lines. The color smeared crookedly across my mouth and the sight pulled a bitter laugh out of me. I shook my head, teasing it into wild knots that framed my face without a hint of elegance. That was when a tube of red lipstick caught my eye. I twisted it open and dragged it across my lips without bothering to stay inside the lines. The color smeared crookedly across my mouth and the sight pulled a bitter laugh out of me.

I'm writing this, At 3:40am in the morning, To make you understand that, Time is inconsequential, When it comes to you. You're a balm, that soothes. You're the beautiful strokes, On my empty canvas. With you paint, With the way you love, You create a beautiful thing, For you and me equals art. I won't lie to you, One day I'll walk away for good, For no reason at all. But I guess until then, You can be, My beautiful disaster. The Lost Letters of Dean Olsen

Then I began to fuck her mouth in long, steady strokes. Her painted breasts jiggled with every thrust. The burgundy streaks smeared across her skin. My balls slapped against her chin. Saliva dripped down her neck, mixing with the paint. I looked down at her. “You look like a work of art already,” I said. “My little redhead canvas. Covered in my colours. Soon you will be covered in my cum too.” She moaned around my cock. The vibration made my spine tingle. I pulled out. Stroked myself twice. Smacked the wet head against her painted tits. Left streaks of pre-cum across the burgundy.

I took an arrow to the heart I never kissed a mouth that tastes like yours Strawberries and somethin' more Ooh yeah, I want it all Lipstick on my guitar (ooh) Fill up the engine, we can drive real far Go dancin' underneath the stars Ooh yeah, I want it all Mm, you got me feelin' like I wanna be that guy, I wanna kiss your eyes I wanna drink that smile, I wanna feel like I'm Like my soul's on fire, I wanna stay up all day and all night Yeah, you got me singin' like Ooh, I love it when you do it like that And when you're close up, give me the shivers Oh baby, you wanna dance 'til the sunlight cracks

Makeup is not a mask. Makeup is art. Makeup is Passion. Makeup is an expression. I found the quote to be true when my eyes fell on the mirror, and I gawked at the girl staring back. Her hair was swept up in a messy ballerina bun with curls falling around her round face, and her makeup was immaculately perfect. Smokey eyeshadow under freshly waxed eyebrows, made the baby blue in her eyes pop like a blue lagoon in a dark cave, and light pink lipstick adorned her lips in complement to the blush on her cheeks.

The lipstick is a dark burgundy, and makes her lips look all too tempting. “This is a lip stain; it won’t come off easily once it’s dry. So, it’s not going to need reapplying if you want to be all kissy, kissy at some point.” Eliza gives Charlie a reproachful look, “What, you’ve been very touchy feely with them since I turned up. I expect a little bit of PDA from you guys.” Kai looks confused, and Charlie rolls her eyes. “Public Displays of Affection, PDA.” He blinks and smirks rubbing the back of his neck,

His face was flushed red, as red as a tomato. The woman smiled at him, then said, "Hahaha, I'm a human indeed. Do you really think I'm not human? You're really funny. Ah! Happy birthday, by the way! It's a surprise gift from your friends, and I'm participating because it's entertaining, hehehehe.” Havi tilted his head. “A birthday when my actual birthday is already a week ago?” Havi chimed in with a sarcastic intonation. "Well, this kind of thing is another kind of surprise, right, guys?"

The violinists have stopped playing our song long ago, but the melody still hums inside my chest. My makeup is supposed to make me feel beautiful. Dewy skin, rose lips, soft shimmer on my eyelids, everything the way he likes. The artist said I looked like a dream. I did. Until the dream ended. Now, the blush on my cheeks is just leftover hope, my mascara has drowned in tears, and the lipstick that once promised forever is nothing but a blurred memory. Every stroke of perfection is melting down my face like my plans, my faith, my composure. I wanted him to see me radiant. Instead, I’m here, smudged, trembling, and waiting for someone who is nowhere to be found.

Beauty spills from brush to frame, Every hue a whispered name. Recreating peace in stride, Art’s where wealth and wonder hide. To walk with paint, the dreamer’s call, A gallery’s grace for one and all. Chorus: Collectors glide, their wallets gleam, Chasing strokes of every dream. Food exquisite, voices blend, A night of paint that never ends. Outro: Wolf eyes glint, the hunger stays, Beneath the glow of art’s bright blaze. Step by step, we chase the scene,

Selene picked up a tube of lipstick and twisted it open, revealing a deep shade of crimson. “Lipstick is more than just makeup,” she said, leaning down to apply it to my lips. “It’s a weapon. A signal. A declaration.” I remained still as she painted my lips, the color standing out starkly against my skin. She stepped back. “There. Now look at yourself.” I did. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t see a broken girl. I saw something else—someone else. A woman who was learning how to play the game.