The Importance of Hair Clippers

Each strand is a living, breathing being. They speak in some weird garbled language on their own and different parts of my head have their own unique ways of speaking. The bangs and the crown is different as Spanish and Swahili. Sometimes they even fight like war infactions around my skull, tangling with each other until the knots are so tight that I can barely separate them with a comb. Their mournful song brightens my darkest days, allowing for a good cry that pushes out my own pain and a flood of salty tears. There have been times when I've considered pulling a hair out to hear that wonderful melody - but I'm not a murderer.

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