Playing House

I stood in the 9x5 kitchen washing a single dish like a doll in my very own game of house.
The bedroom's decorated with a parasol of paper, bonsai, and paintings made from the hand of my very best friend. Same song on repeat,
it's always the same. I am the same
tiny girl
squirreling away clips and inspiration, chords,
delicate melancholy riffs that shatter sadness like an icicle dropped.
That liquid/
vapor/
solid,
it's all the same.