Everything’s in recession right now, especially my hairline. It’s as if it’s afraid of my eyes and/or nose. Or maybe there’s some unwritten facial hair law that says crazy scientist eyebrows and hairlines need to be separated by as far a gap as possible. And my brows aren’t going anywhere…
you are old now
in ways i don’t know
your hairlline is
a receeding reminder
of the time that has passed
and the time we have left
is the memory
of your hands in mine
the love we shared
when we were young and beautiful
without the weight of the world
it is the memory
of it all fading away
when the time comes
for us to pass it on
if you keep receding i’ll zone
out
the dime store remedies ready
me
i don’t like the tone of your conversation
the thinnest excuses as you reseed
rogaine, propecia, bonerless
bonered
hairline outline depression
let it go
let it all float away
William had a receding hairline, just like his father before him, and his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father. Still, he did his best to groom the rest of the locks he had. He’d obsessively comb each clump of strands, using the finest gel to slick it back. Still, his forehead now resembled a car’s windshield catching the sunlight. There was no way around: Alopecia was a real b****.
He felt his hairline receding – well he felt where his hair once stood. He looked in the mirror and sighed at himself. Lamenting his lost youth. Where did the time go? A timeless questing every aging male asked themselves at this stage of life. Where did his time go? His routine had blinded him to what was important – calculating the measure of time and securing the refined happiness distilled from every moment.
The funniest cut was made into his hair… A style I hadn’t seen before… I wondered what men’s inclinations were, for choosing certain styles, aside from sexual ones…
She ran her fingers through his hair. It was surprisingly soft. He kept his eyes closed and she wasn’t sure if he was asleep. She traced his hairline with her fingers, continuing to stroke him as his body relaxed into hers and his breathing slowed.
there’s a hairline fracture in my heart, a tiny soft swaying line like mountain ridge lane across the mountain, dips and dives, bear cub running right in front of my car, little black ball of fur and gristle, it was so fast i didn’t need to slow down, wonder where its momma was.
The golden streaks on his head occasionally revealed hints of silver. The receding hairline was apparent. It was testament to his time on earth, and also a physical connect to his father he had respected deeply. His banana farm he had once toiled over and lost countless years of his life from, was now his shining beacon of joy and prosperity.
Everything’s in recession right now, especially my hairline. It’s as if it’s afraid of my eyes and/or nose. Or maybe there’s some unwritten facial hair law that says crazy scientist eyebrows and hairlines need to be separated by as far a gap as possible. And my brows aren’t going anywhere…
you are old now
in ways i don’t know
your hairlline is
a receeding reminder
of the time that has passed
and the time we have left
is the memory
of your hands in mine
the love we shared
when we were young and beautiful
without the weight of the world
it is the memory
of it all fading away
when the time comes
for us to pass it on
if you keep receding i’ll zone
out
the dime store remedies ready
me
i don’t like the tone of your conversation
the thinnest excuses as you reseed
rogaine, propecia, bonerless
bonered
hairline outline depression
let it go
let it all float away
William had a receding hairline, just like his father before him, and his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father. Still, he did his best to groom the rest of the locks he had. He’d obsessively comb each clump of strands, using the finest gel to slick it back. Still, his forehead now resembled a car’s windshield catching the sunlight. There was no way around: Alopecia was a real b****.
His hairline was receding. He could no longer ignore it. Cut his hair very short? Shave his hole head? Or even give in to his vanity and get a toupet.
He felt his hairline receding – well he felt where his hair once stood. He looked in the mirror and sighed at himself. Lamenting his lost youth. Where did the time go? A timeless questing every aging male asked themselves at this stage of life. Where did his time go? His routine had blinded him to what was important – calculating the measure of time and securing the refined happiness distilled from every moment.
The funniest cut was made into his hair… A style I hadn’t seen before… I wondered what men’s inclinations were, for choosing certain styles, aside from sexual ones…
She ran her fingers through his hair. It was surprisingly soft. He kept his eyes closed and she wasn’t sure if he was asleep. She traced his hairline with her fingers, continuing to stroke him as his body relaxed into hers and his breathing slowed.
there’s a hairline fracture in my heart, a tiny soft swaying line like mountain ridge lane across the mountain, dips and dives, bear cub running right in front of my car, little black ball of fur and gristle, it was so fast i didn’t need to slow down, wonder where its momma was.
The golden streaks on his head occasionally revealed hints of silver. The receding hairline was apparent. It was testament to his time on earth, and also a physical connect to his father he had respected deeply. His banana farm he had once toiled over and lost countless years of his life from, was now his shining beacon of joy and prosperity.