The Water Jet Cilice

I knew this one girl,
Drowned in her own curls —
Candy colored swirls,
That never seemed to end.
I could not comprehend
Half what she said to me So casually —
All our tender ears would bend
Tales of ritual self-torture.
She’s making you abort your
Most carefully laid plans.
To make a final stand,
Rest of world to hand
A scoreless victory for serendipity.