There’s plastic
eyelashes
on the carpet.
Makeup-covered and ridiculous
telling stories
of drunken mishaps. Of tears
and desperation,
tearing these things clean off black eyes
and crying into a bathroom sink.
They say; “put me to bed”
“take out your contacts”
“work in the morning.”

They’re everywhere.
Little harmless spiders,
insects we fear more than insects.
Unmoving, staring, reminding.
They say; “where did you go last night?”
and you remember
trying
to stick them to your eyelids
for twenty minutes, and kissing some boy
and then
ripping them off and sleeping.

They say; “why do you care so much?”
“why are you lying?”
and you’re wondering why
in a house full of girls
there’s a handful of eyes
on every wall, floor and ceiling.
You say “why do I care so much?”
“Why do I cry these off?”
These silly things make you
a devious enchantress
but it’s never enough.