with scissors she goes snip, snip, snip, cutting off her black locks.
down onto the floor they go. onto the hardwood floor.
the shorter her hair gets, the crazier the look in her eyes
as the silver blades hack away the only thing she can control.
because he told her he loved her hair,
he loved the way it shone in the sunlight;
he loved the way it smelled ever so faintly of shampoo;
he loved the way he could run his fingers through it;
he loved it because it was a part of her.
but now he's gone; his memory lingers like a ghost
who haunts her day and night, through sleep and awake.
and the only way to get rid of a ghost
is to cut it to pieces, right? right? right?
cut, cut, cut. snip, snip, snip.
the scissors dance along her scalp.
and when she's done, she takes a look in the mirror
and sees the monster she's become.
