blood in her hair

there's blood in her hair
(though you can't really see
red against black)
she wishes she'd dyed it silver-blond
(there's just something about
blood in blonde hair)

she washes the blood off
when she goes out
(she doesn't want any interrogation
about the blood in her raven hair)
that's not to say that when she returns
she doesn't hurt herself again

she's on the streets
watching people watching her
(it's like they've never seen a girl before)
she's afraid of their scrutiny
(she's scared they'll know her mystery
of the metallic tang in her hair)

she rolls up her sleeve
(all she has are black long sleeved shirts
though it's blazing hot in Singapore)
her arm's covered with white scar lines
on her otherwise ming vase skin
(you can tell she's cut much deeper before)

nothing can vindicate
how the blood gets into her inky hair
(maybe she smashes her head into the wall)
she doesn't know, herself
(she goes dizzy after a while
it's nothing special to her)

most days she's locked in her room
waiting for the blood to fall
(she can't wait to see the scarlet on her skin)
the refracting pain inside is trapped and cornered
(the only way is to bleed everything out
but even then there's always blood in her hair.)

-matapokker 16 jan 2005.

thanks louiseand melly! my beta LOVE! (: