Earlier, my desk almost broke in my tantrum.
A friend took so long. That’s a lot...
I was evicted from my columbarium,
But I saw you. I love your haircut.

I see you. I always do. I am all-seeing.
I even hear you. I hear everything. I am my own god.
But you have the power to cut my being,
Yet you will never, ever see blood.

There was something in my columbarium
That had been there since my return.
I took it with me, for my equilibrium—
Not an urn, but perhaps 'twas a lost turn.

From my private oblivion, the first the eyes had taken—
I really hate the world, the way 'twas mixed.
I am reforged. I cannot be broken.
I see you. I love the way your hair is fixed.