The perfected frenzy

buried beneath burn-edged photographs.

They are the ageless obsessions

born black and blistered

with characteristic white flecks.

Surprisingly human, they have likeness,
to the eyes

and lips

and lashes.

It was just one snap, at first

that split itself into broken bits of girl

layering her hair with artificial reds,

browns, and blondes.

She is fifty polaroid prints,

with others' curling bones

blank blinking bones
that stare you down

in their off-white glory.

(I waited such a long time to post because this is my 100th post! *confetti*I really wanted this post to be something special. Ah, well. I love you all, you are so completely amazing and inspiring. Sometimes I don't think I could get along without you and your beautiful thoughts.

xxx

Ever