then i dyed my hair six different shades
all in one sitting
to make sure.
the thick, black sand engulfing from the nape of my neck,
all my scalp; the battlefield that ate the edges of my
cheekbones lightened
until it was a sunset
and my ****** structure was unrecognisable.
that was an accident.
i wanted there to be a fight,
an endless war against the silliest things:
water condensating on the lid of my piano
stray hairs that will never tuck properly
how difficult the blue pills are to crack in half.
but i shifted myself six seats to the left
lifted the middle arm rest and fit my old guitar
on my lap and started to sing
i wanted there to be something in me that had never been seen
the black sands were rooted beyond the bleached skin
and into the burnt letters, torn tendons, the names i'll never be called
the grains often fall
into this unfamiliar home territory
the sunset glaring out the possibility of having an advantage.
transformation
the end of the bargain that stays silent
until there's room
inbetween the wood and the moisture
for mistakes.