Lipstick Stain Is A Work Of Art Lyrics Mga Nobela at Kwento

her voice creaks and breaks "You trapped me, you trapped me in that pathetically broken prison you call a heart but I've finally got out..." a giggle follows "you didn't like that lipstick stain on his shirt did you" "Lipstick stain" realization hit Emily like a bus "That lipstick stain, you planted it there" she points a finger up in the air, pointed at a person she couldn't see

I was looking at them like a fish with opened mouth. Mango came forward to me and sang the lyrics, 'Got the magic stick, I'm the love doctor Have your friends teasing you about how sprung I got you When you show me what you working, baby, no problem Get on top, get your bounce around like a low rider I'm a seasoned vet when it come to this shit After you work up a sweat, you could play with the stick I'm trying to explain, baby, the best way I can I melt in your mouth, girl, not in your hand (uh-huh)'

Seven years later My fingers ghost over the tubes and I settle on the darkest one. Picking it up, I swipe it over my lips then smack them together to spread the color evenly. Whoever invented red lipstick deserves all the money in this world. It's my favorite. Always has been but when someone said it made me look like my lips were stained with blood, I loved it even more. Throwing it back on the counter of the vanity table, I run my hands over my body. The black figure-hugging dress I'm wearing highlights my curves. It ends right under my ass and paired with the red stilettos makes my legs look longer.

I look like someone that just got ravaged! 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑. 𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 . Ignoring that voice, I wipe my lipstick stained mouth with a wipe Yes. There's a wipe in here. Even tampons.

He didn't even raise his voice to sound harsh, “Shut up, Janice.” Miss Lia shot Janice a warning look before turning back to me. “Lyric?” I swallowed hard and stood. The walk to the front felt like trudging through wet cement. I set my painting on the easel, my heart hammering. The colors looked angrier than they had before—jagged reds slashed through deep purples, chaos barely contained on the canvas. It was a painting of a storm, a hurricane, and a tsunami all in one. Perfectly merged together to form the perfect chaos.

Tracy compliments. "Thanks Trace." "Try this lipstick. I swear it will look good on you." Tracy hands to me a dark red lipstick which she's also wearing. "I doubt that." I say. "Come on, we're going clubbing so put some lipstick on to brighten your dull face." I grabbed it from her hand and stared at myself in front of the mirror. I started putting it then pressed my lips together. Tracy smiles at me, "See? You look ready." I chuckled.

Written in the same red lipstick as the message on my mirror. “One more step and you lose everything.”

Indeed, no one knows what the future holds and yeah, at least until now I still have the opportunity to breathe, live healthily with my needs met, only to be trapped with a man I don't love in a marriage contract. I rubbed my hands, there was lipstick stain there. I need to get rid of it. So I pointed to the restroom before a bodyguard asked where I was going. When I reached the restroom, I put my phone and bag next to the dry sink. Only then did I start washing my hands. I don't like having makeup stains on my hands because I feel like it makes me look sloppy, so that's why I want to remove it, no other reason. But since it's a waterproof lipstick, I have to scrub extra since I didn't bring

She swallowed hard rubbing the coral lip stain all over her lips. Her lips were swollen and with stains on they looked pouty and plum. Amara hoped Adrian— Adrian. The butterflies in her stomach died. Amara slowly placed the bottle of lip stain on the table and looked at her reflection. More than anything, she hated herself at that moment. Unable to look at herself, she walked to the window, staring out at the rain-soaked city. What had she done?

"And I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed." He turned around to leave, and that was when I saw it. Time seemed to stop. On the crisp, white collar of his shirt, right against the skin of his neck, there was a stain. A bright, vivid, crimson red stain. Lipstick. It was shaped like a perfect kiss mark, smudged slightly as if someone had pressed their lips against him with too much passion, too much urgency. And the color... it was a shade of red I would never dare to wear. It was bold, dangerous, and seductive.