She had a dressing table,
Aveeno cream,
And a big blusher brush.

There was nothing sad about the scissors
But they sat there open on the dressing table,
And they looked sad.

Two canaries flew freely about the room,

So we joined awkwardly in the darkness
Under the sad eyes of scissors
And the colour yellow.

With those
she'll give new meaning
to "heads will roll."

They creep me out.
Those sticky-out veins in your neck,
the way they stretch like pythons’ tongues
as if they’re going to snap –
they’ll snap.
Like elastic,
they’ll snap
(just the thought …)

They creep me out,
the fact that they’re so FLESHY
and for some reason,
remind me of goats’ beards
and stringy turkey necks
(I don’t know, but,
just the thought …)

They creep me out.
I’ve got the weird feeling that
they could be snipped away by silver scissors
like loose threads.
They’ll snap.
Like elastic.
They’ll snap.
Stretching,
Stretching
(just the thought …)

Papers are flimsy, fragile
   so susceptible to time
      and harsher climates.

Scissors cut and divide
   thriving on irreparable separation
      to leave us in pieces and scattered.

Rocks are rough and tough
   facing--and looking--the worst
       while enduring every day and night to come.

My choice resides amongst the stones
   constant, long-lasting, dependable
      in the challenges that may have others call
      for support when they can't stand alone
   for maybe the times they lived were too much, too long
after facing the blades which cut them into small, segregated fragments.

i can feel the string threaded beneath
the thin skin on the inside of my wrist
it is my substitute veins
full of nothing but nothingness (so sim
ple) and I want to burst in to
a million trillion pieces of brightly colored
tissue paper that is not meant for noses
but the string becomes tighter
and tighter
and tighter still
until I feel the cotton ***** stuffed down my throat
and my lungs are constricted and set aflame
I can not find my sharpened scissors
let me check the other drawer