My Hair Has Frozen in Spikes Across Music [January 26th | 25/365]

I went against the national code of mothers.
I have been condemned to adjectives.
It is in the grain of the voice I read sentences.
Letters mean nothing but sound and sound is breath.
Swell and break and explode, the ice in the hair melts.
You will never hear me breathe only my breaths.
The melody disappears and sinks into water.
I abandon my language lovingly
like after a one night stand
like a pleasurable shiver
like a shared perversion
like grain against wood
like water wood in flames