I have a new, jaunty bob,
And there's a stranger in the mirror.
Last time you saw me I had a short crop and a kiss curl.
Do I seem softer now, with my sleeker bangs?
Would you like the new look?
Would the change help us to move from the past?
You could pretend I'm someone different,
That the sharp cropped siren is someone else, long gone.
It might draw you in again.
That's not what I'm aiming for, and yet...
I'd be lying if I said that I hope you wouldn't like it,
And what does it matter?
You're gone. You will never again see
Any part of me.

A sweep of sick nostalgia,
At these old familiar mind games.

Second guessing,
Constant stressing.

Are you playing with me?
No, I'm playing with myself.
Mmmmm...and it feels good.

I looked at you, appraisingly
And felt very little,
Could even call it nothing.
How could all those feelings disappear – and where are they now?
Lying dormant, waiting to be reactivated
By your hungry, longing glance?
Or gone forever, welcome realisation
Prompting utter disregard?
My inspiration has fled with the feelings,
So bring back the longing,
The anger, the aching, and the angst.
I cannot lose
My one and only muse.