toes are cold against the bathroom floor, tiles, pink
and i am balancing bobby pins on the tips of my fingers while
my sister rattles the locked door ****, there's no fire but her voice speaks flames, tongues of red that echo off the walls and slowly burn out,
and i let the faucet run away with itself and it gladly agrees and
I crack open the window because I'm still learning to breathe.
And hell to it all when I turn on the radio and my sister's still screaming and maybe the house really is burning down but I wouldn't know
the only balance I've ever felt is at the edges of my hands,

So I pin my hair back and I go