The tick is crawling through my hair
planning small demise that turns big
representing things like lyme disease.
He's paving ways through the roots of my strands
to find the perfect spot to strike.
And through his devious, little eyes
all he can understand is opportunity
and the hunger for blood.
His body ticks, and twitches, and jumps
to suck it from my scalp.
I go and wash my hair at night
and the tick's plan is foiled.
There he goes streaming down my back,
rotating down the drain along
with my garnier's fructis shampoo.
Do we all really ever know
how close we are to death?
Author notes
I exaggerated a little,
but I like the idea of thinking small.
Favorite Part
Comments
-
haha, this is good. like its not even funny but like the last lines made me laugh cuz i was like damm, a tick made you think of that. you must be a poet if thats the case.
but i loved it. this is my poem of the day.
-
This made me scratch my head, haha
But, I really like the last lines, I wasn't expecting that.
I liked this, it was different (:
Adding your comment:
