Drawing the razor across my face,
I wince as I take,
not only blond hairs but
a sizable chunk of flesh as well.
If my objective was to
make the sense of alienation
as apparent on the outside
as it is at my core,
then the sticky blood
slowly dripping over my lips
certainly conveys the message.

That’s the funny thing
about blood.
It’s so easy, so cheap,
to sacrifice a little
when you need some
for your rituals but
the result it buys,
in horrified and repulsed respect,
from your now attentive audience,
is worth it’s weight in gold.

Looking at me now,
you can tell there is something
slightly off about me but
you can’t put your finger on
exactly what it is.
Engaging me in discussion
to determine my affliction is,
in all likelihood,
more trouble than it’s worth.

I am carving a
“Do Not Disturb” sign
into my face because
you have shown very little interest
in what I have to say and
I have grown weary endeavoring
to meet with your approval.
I have decided to capitulate and
remove my disguise,
in the vain hope you will now understand
what I can’t find the words to say.


Max Mundan, Shaving My Eyebrows

© David Rutter 2014

Follow me on twitter @dmr226

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"You are flowers in my stomach.
 Cutting me open nightly, blooming through the cracks of the ribs.
 I only want to be the sun for you."
– Elke River

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