as i comb through wet strands
and witness the gentleness
of the teeth
pull loose hair
that didn't want to stay
i'm catapulted into the past
when poisoned cells
tore the locks from my head
in a desperate attempt to live

i did not realize
that when the cells stopped killing themselves
the hair would still fall
unmolested but pulled free
as easily as it did before

there are more ways than one
to tell that something has been lost
its not just the noticeable scar
or the two bottles of pills
or the doctor's appointments
every two-three months
it's the hair that continues to fall
in mourning of what was lost
and what can never be again