When I realized I had fallen in love with you
I slit my wrists to stop the bleeding.

I used threads of your hair I had stolen,
from a voodoo doll to sew them up.

But it seeped through my sleeves so I tye dyed
my shirt with phlegm, feces, and ****.

After it was dry it looked like your face,
like finding Jesus or Mary on a pancake or in coffee.

You're my messiah and I would wash your feet
with my hair but I haven't any, cause I shaved it off
when you left.

I wear hats all day now, my head gets cold, and the beanies
smell like hair oil, shampoo, and follicles.

And sometimes I wonder what you would think,
of the way my hair matts down from the pressure and heat.

Kind of like the way you bedded me down with the same,
weight and warmth of blankets and body hair.

What do you do when you haven't eaten all day
and you're scared of being fatter than your significant other?

Paint your nails **** red and hope your heels are high enough on Saturday.