The cold white light that burns
From frosty windows filled with clouds,
It pastes the skin in pallid white,
Defining bags that swim beneath the eyes,
And spots that came up overnight
Erupt like small volcano mounts
That cry for makeup scraped on thick.
I wish my hair would fall in curls
That bounce like other girls,
Not straight and straggled with the grease
From a shower missed last night.
The humble call with video too
Will be the death of you…..