I am the hydra.
My head detatched, three new
ones spring forth. See the splatter,
the ground speckled red
in my grey and teal office? I am
the hydra, multiplying where others
die. You knew this, my own private
myth. You knew my only skill
was also my biggest weakness. You held
my head, you sawed thru my neck with
a dull kitchen knife, and left it
hanging from a thick pink rope
of flesh. Watch the color drain
from my skin, watch the glaze form
on my eyes, I cannot grow back
what hasn’t been taken away.