No More Wash & Rinse

Death's beauty parlor.

 

No More Wash & Rinse

Suck the marrow from my brittle bones,

Drain all of the blood from my body.

 

My soul has already departed,

Long before I was brokenhearted.

 

Speak of me only in silence,

For I am only in past tense.

Future perfect is for the perfect.

 

No longer will I

Wash and rinse my hair,

For the dead have no

beauty parlors.

 

 

Author's Note

The weird things insomnia presents us with in the wee hours of the night.

Reviews

[Speak in Silence]

I absolutely love this. It's hard to find poetry like this piece.