i wonder what hair, that's just about to be snipped off, thinks about. does it anticipate its fall
where it joins its other snipoffs or do the scissors catch it by absolute surprise?
what's in my brain, stays in my brain. because thinking out loud just isn't good enough.

my fingers are bitten to the core, pottering around in my boyfriend's tshirt, watching skins, hair snipped,
brain relocated somewhere else, finding something else to do, waiting for his call, thinking about my
affinity or lack thereof to emotion, wondering where my bad habits have gone, loving a boy who fucks up
my brain in the best way possible then lets me float away with the smoke from his drag.