the misery of the cut

He held my heart, in his hands, tightly,
like it meant nothing!
His eyes, looked deep into mine,
questioning, I read it easily.
My eyes teary, was it necessary?
mine asked his. He nodded.
My heart breaking, resolve hardening,
I took a deep breath. Be gentle I said.
He smiled. And then, he began.
Moving his fingers, bladed and sharp.
I heard the sounds, like razor on paper,
jarring my ears, my eyes closed tightly,
body cringing, sinking into my gut.
I wait with horror, to see the devastation.
Time ticks on. Open, he says.
My eyes flutter, shivering, I see,
the mayhem, my blood, my black, on the floor.
Oh hell, it was time. He nodded.
I look at him, then at me.
It’s better? he asks. I agree. He smiles.
My head feels lighter, me still sad.
I look at what was, sadly.
Then I smile, they’ll come back.
Slowly but faithfully, they’ll all come back,
like they always have, they always will!

(this hell whenever I get a hair cut, think the women can empathise)


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