I sat,
on the swivelling chair

swirling blades, voracious appetite
comb revealing its fine teeth –
the hairdresser's weapons

a sharp rusty pain shot
through my forehead
as the blades and comb frantically
snipped past –
they're the greatest enemies
of pimply youths, in a haircut

I winced silently;
she, oblivious to the
deep scar she had unintentionally inflicted upon me

yet who would truly understand
the woes of an adolescent
whose face is unfortunately
bedecked with zits?

but alas,
we can only suffer in silence,
yearn for them to go away
so that our next hairdresser visit'll
be a much pleasanter one