Stuck in a conundrum,
Dreaming about dreaming,
Waking from a dream inside a dream,
Only to realise, it’s all still going on.
Even waking up completely,
Leaves you utterly destroyed for weeks,
As you long to record details,
Your mind has erased.
Now all you want to do is dream one more time.
No one wants to know you,
Unless knowing you is a sport they can play,
Unless you match the accessories of their outfit.
So I learned to acclimatise to people’s temperaments,
Shed skin to accommodate seasons,
Shave my head for the same reason a woman cuts hers,
To get over an ex,
To hate being the image a former partner remembers,
To subconsciously be rid of past identification,
Or belonging to a retina image-memory,
Etched into someone’s idea of you.
I’m high fashion once people realise the stone I’m made from,
Cryptonite can be easily mistaken for emeralds.
My head has been shaved for fifteen years,
I can’t go back to that dream,
Scalping is not my thing,
And I’m not into fashion.