Carolyn says she believes in angels
while mascara spiders creep thickly along the
heavy baggage beneath her eyes like the
black pitch of the school hallways at night or
the charcoal that she dips her fingernails in and I
remember cheating on my math test that morning
I tell her I believe in people.
Roasted honey nut, the color she was born with but
you really wouldn’t know it because of the midnight L’Oréal
she chooses, tragically highlighted with Punk Pink or
Raging Red from a bottle and 15
minutes of waiting –
It spills limply over her black eyes whenever she leans down to write and
Carolyn says she believes in fate.
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