The itch of the edges of my hair on my neck like an army of red ants they crawl into my brain and leave me with no rest. They start a riot, demanding a better life, change.
The black became a prison they wanted to escape, so they set me on a temperamental airplane until I have named the clouds my mother and my father the sea.
And slowly, my veins turned blue but I wasn't near dead, I was more alive than I could ever be.
I decided to Re-polish my Roman armor but I didn't intended it to reflect the sun light
It was so bright that it hurt others, but I only saw my reflection in it.
It was the last thread of beauty that I was allowed to keep and I was willing to take the three steps from the edge of the ship and dive into the sea.
I did not hear the warning siren songs by the sea
And the thread that I craved; wrapped around that very same neck only with a tighter itch.
The beauty became my curse.
***
text // alaa minwer
art // lulua
