In truth I'm rather worried,
I've got something on my mind,
I must have - this keeps happening,
Yet I feel quite blind.
I don't want to say it aloud,
So I'll try it down in words,
Let Opuss hear my plight,
And hope that I'll be heard.
Every time I wake up,
I'm worse than after sleep,
Exhaustion pulls me everywhere,
Pulls me under deep.
But that is not my problem,
That's a minor glitch,
There's something worse with me:
A truly worrying hitch.
Anyone who knows me,
Describes me from my hair,
But what if I was saying...
That it's barely there.
Yes, what I am hedging,
Is that I'm worrying,
I don't know how to stop myself-
From what is happening.
I'm pulling at my hair,
My blondey-auburn mess,
It's looser by the hour,
Deteriorating tress by tress.
It's something I take comfort in,
My long and thick, thick hair,
There's no words for what I'd feel,
If suddenly it weren't there.
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