Scissors
By birksy
I never used to carry scissors, never saw the need, that’s changed now. I hold them tightly in my bag, Just waiting for the moment when I snatch them out to right that injustice in the world, the quicksilver prongs, snip, snip, snip. Oh, the sound, leaving, relieving my hands, my eyes, of those monstrosities, how dare they come in here, it’s all gone very wrong. Then, when I can stand no more, when need has turned into oily pleasure, I flee, scissors with me, though once again returned to the bag. When they awake, they will see that the flick of hair they thought was covering the head, is no more, and, yes!, they are truly bald. Written November 29th, 2001 © on Nov 29 2001 02:12 AM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 14
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"I never used to carry scissors,..."