You say

my head weighs a whole ten pounds.

My shoulders must be tired from such a burden,

but you are going to free me

because you know

that if you angle the knife just right

when you slice it off

a balloon will blossom from my neck

and inflate

with harsh fluorescent lights for eyes

and a sharpie grin

and for hair, a single rope you can pull

when you play tug-of-war.

 

Lasers? Chainsaws? Prayers?

Probiotic defluorinated milk infused with electromagnetic oils?

You keep on trying

in your contaminated labs

and our hands grow calloused scrubbing up the blood.