I tie your breath into knots without a doubt
you gotta work it out
you have to break the bond
your voice is a wand
shaking all your hair out 'til you fall to the ground
hear it on the round
then you fall down
jump back up and let it bounce
you gotta pounce
use every ounce
dumping all those thoughts out.
and place your hands somewhere you cannot reach.
just like each day you've lived and breathed before.
the tension building up within your spine.
to fill your shaking hands with something new.
to keep your brittle, breaking will in check.
your fingers through the graveyard on your head.
the urge that wants to pull you to the edge.
yourself in treacle truths and bitter tastes.
You find that bare and balding patch of skin.
Each pluck removes a tiny piece of sin.
The pain reminds your mind that you're alive.
The shame reminds your heart you want to die.
Demonic hungers spur your fingers more.
And hair by hair you carpet wooden floors.
You picture faces of the ones you love.
Your innocence lives like a dying dove.
in hundreds lie around your pillowcase,
around, not on, your sore and bleeding scalp.
Each time you vow to never pick again,
but Trich plays tricks and makes you take his help.
Vines sprout thick at the top of her head
Making way for the beautiful sprouts they bear
An array of colours so vibrant
And textures so different
Oh how envious we all must be
For no one could foresee
This blessing from the gods
In a calm graceful way
She smiles as she sees her reflection
For she just realised
She grew flowers in her hair
How long should I sit here and pretend that I haven't wanted to end it for 17 years?
How long should I say 'I'm good' when I was just crying the bathroom ten minutes ago?
How long should I stare in the mirror and say 'Maybe I'll cut my hair tomorrow' knowing deep down I won't go for the next six months.
How long should I avoid the inevitable?
How long is too long?
How long can I look at this world, this society, and think that this is the type of world I want to live in?
Rabbits scurry and frolic,
Always living in perpetual peace, and Fear,
They know something,
Of the cruelty, this world has to offer.
They have seen comrades rendered piles of meat,
Upon the hot barren asphalt street.
No longer able to frolic and play,
With their friends of the day.
As they have become,
A mummified disc of hair,