A Shade Called Desperation

I bent over the ceramic rim at 2 AM

until my neck went stiff as a frozen pipe.

The dye was a violent, chemical gem

staining the grout. I wasn't the type

to go for electric blue, but I needed a scream

that didn't involve opening my mouth.

I watched the pigment swirl in a stream

heading for the drain, heading south.

This morning, I stood by the toaster’s hum

waiting for the shock, for the 'oh my god.'

He looked at my scalp, his fingers numb

around a spoon, and gave a tired nod.

'Are we out of filters?' he asked the floor.

I wiped my hands on the white rental towel,

leaving a smear like a bruise by the door.

He didn't even notice the change was foul.