Beautiful, beautiful girls.
Anxiety: an odor present in the sea of designer perfumes
And written all over their freshly made up faces.
Only on the surface of the skin?
Today—glorious!—they get to make up who they are.
Or who They want them to be.
Nameless, interchangeable, oh-so-beautiful faces.
Of beautiful, beautiful girls.
Beautiful girls, struggling to become women.
Grappling, under the watchful eyes of Demi-elders—Demigods?—who know little more about that undefinable station than the seas of beautiful, beautiful girls They judge.
Judge by gossamer merits for Balkan letters.
Each voicing—without speaking—
Beautiful, beautiful girls in rows
Spoils to the winner?
Lambs to the slaughter…
Smiling, I pass