She liked to write long letters in cursive to her cousin,
about incense, bubble baths and trying new foods.

Her words dripped down the paper
like glossy candle wax erupting from an ivory volcano,

innocent civilians smothered
by a vanilla-scented blaze.

Enchanted like a sapphire,
all her lies glimmered on the page.

She closed her fantasy with the scribble of her name,
sealing her spirit away to a distant address.

She scanned the world with her crystals
her jewels, her mystical purple pen

recording her tales on the lined notebook paper
and leaving behind all her real secrets

at the echoing of a bell on a Friday afternoon
in the shadows of her metal blue locker.