snip.

i cut my ties in the same fashion in which i cut my hair.

feel the heat of the moment,

a release from the opponent,

and soak in the atonements,

but frankly, i still have a care.

the snip of a strand still fills me with ache,

no matter that the ends were frayed.

for my heart gains this fire,

a filthy desire,

that maybe,

just maybe,

you stayed.

as i slash off the inches,

i deal with the pinches,

then look to the mirror, no smile.

for those pieces were dead,

and soon, new hair will fill my head.

but i wished those pieces could’ve grown for miles.