That simple shade
Became something else.
Chemical manipulation
Of myself.
The alternative style
Of the simple apparel.
To be displayed and destroyed,
Put through peril.
This one of a kind,
Unavailable in stores.
Resulted from a craft,
Through friendship,
And something more.
We bore the fumes
Unfaltered by the work.
Our heads were light, and we prevailed with a smirk.
The counter was stained,
And so were the shorts.
But they were better now, and have since been worn.
And worn.
And worn.
This work has an interesting story. My freshman year of college I had my roomate wash a pair of my grey, champion shorts. Unfortunately, my germaphobic friend added bleach to his clothes resulting in a dime-sized stain on my shorts. Instead of throwing them out, or dealing with a very noticeable mark, I decided to dab bleach all over them. My next door neighbor and I took turns making designs on them in the hall bathroom. The shorts turned out unique and fun, but we both had to get fresh air due to the lingering effects of bleach...