If you could record the sounds of the hallway:
snares dropping, voices humming, pin drop quiet.
Orange sticks hurried into pockets
raining on the ground like coffee beans
in an empty Starbucks.
Eyes freeze silently
staring down humiliations throat.
Tears are forgotten
mocking the cold gossips
swirling throughout the cesspool.
An orange puff dances above
brown and black and blonde sea
of raised whispers adrift in cacophony.
The chocolate melts in plaited skirt,
a face flames bright cherry.













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