Oh well.
I love my hair.
Don’t you?
Brown in the sun like golden strands of silk
and black at night like the shadows that swallow the sky
I wouldn’t want to lose my hair.
Would you?
Oh well.
They’re going to die anyways,
may as well just leave them be.
No hair.
No thick brown locks or straight black strands or curly red tufts
no hair
just sadness
Why are we like this?
People have to live in constant restraint like a bear on a chain
knowing one day it will be slaughtered to make room for the next bear
and still we laugh at them for having no hair
Hair.
A small problem, really
If only the narrow minded of us could imagine what it’s like to be on the end of that chain
Pulling
Jerking
Strangling
Killing
Slowly
Bit. By. Bit.
Year. By. Year.
Oh well.
They’re going to die anyways aren’t they?