HAIR

Twirling, black, wet

Decapitated vanity

Scattered on the floor

Did you look away, as we made love that night?

Did we make love that night?

Did we ever make love?

Because I hungered for that

Which I never deserved,

Because I hunger for that

Which I cannot have,

Each night, a zombie with haunted hair

Traverses a mobius strip of nostalgia

Someday I’ll kill the beast

And bathe these tresses in its blood

Twirling, red, wet