(enter: her)

She says – I love the look on your face when you realize

that roses don't mean a thing

from glamour boys like him –


Turns to the bathroom mirror and examines her

hair, melted amber in sweet caressing waves

eyes, green orbs of brilliance

and pouted sugar plum lips.

– What about glamour girls like you? – I ask.


Pause…

her face contorts in a sadistic smile,

– Honey, don't hate me because I'm beautiful –


The look on her face is priceless when I answer

– Beautiful, don't hate me because I'm real –