She sits with her friends,
arms clutched in to her chest.
The smells of heavy summer air,
heated rubber,
and salty adolescent sweat
linger on her nose.
She licks her
peeling, scaly lips,
and her hair falls in a
spiraling brown curtain
over her eyes,
which are trained
on the far corner,
where three Tormentors reside.

I. Heaven
The First is tall,
and thinner than she,
with curly light brown hair
cropped close to the skull,
so the waves don't show.
A thin face,
soft lips,
bright hazel eyes that
don't meet hers,
because he's too oblivious.
A small, smart grin
plays on his face,
and a thin silver ring
dangles from his ear.
The girl swears
that a halo glistens
above his golden skin.

II. Hell
The Second is short.
Shorter than most, she thinks,
but he still pushes
those few inches above her
dangerously.
Strait yellow hair
tickles his eyes,
which are the colour of
an olive tree's fruit.
He laughs loud,
wicked and daunting,
making up his lack of size.
He sees her seeing him,
and he smiles but then stops,
doesn't know what to do.
What are the lines? They don't know.
And so he turns his back on her,
displaying his black gossamer wings.

and

II. In Between
The Third,
slight and limber,
cloaked in a baggy grey sweater,
envelopes his arms around
a thin and giggling schoolgirl
who takes comfort in his possession.
She feathers her fingers
through his reddish-brown hair,
which falls just past his ears.
His oceanic blue eyes meet our heroine's,
and she gasps at his voluminous eyelashes,
which are the prize of envious women.
His crooked smile fades,
his shiny braces disappear,
and he holds her eyes
with metal chains;
he wont let her look away.
She can feel the tears come,
and she sees the apology
in those ocean depths.
But it's not enough.
It's never enough.