...Ah. Poem by Shannon Nicole

There she sit in a fairly uneven wooden chair,
Polished so smooth just right to sit in.
Her face hiding behind gloved hands,
A towel to block her sense of smell.
An annoying fume sways making her feel dizzy,
Though she can't really go anywhere.
She's tapping her feet to the semi-clean floor,
As her hair is being massaged with blood red liquid.
Lean your head back,
I gotta get your hair line.
She did as she were told,
Holding back a cough,
Her eyes began to blur.
Thirty minutes to wait while you scalp numbs,
Gah! It itches! ! !
Sitting on the edge of the couch,
Looking at him from over the towel.
Eyes lying, so he tells me, I'm smiling,
He's laughing at me.
Yay! 7: 30, hooray,
Time to rinse.
Once all the excess dye is gone,
I can condition it so that my hair doesn't break the brush.
Time to blowdry it,
Straightening, then ponytail.

Oh my god,
My hair is dark purple.: ]