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The air stole breath 
from your lungs
                                  and 
                         swirled cool and 
                               unbroken 
          about in your mouth 
          forcing and forming 
       involuntary vowel sounds 
         in the warm hollow 
 
I was just trying to buy new 
razor heads for god’s sake not 
looking to be inflated like a 
balloon.                                          
                             Yet I was, set to 
                                       float away like an abandoned 
                                                                                thought 
 
one moulded beneath 
a shower head or after 
a couple pints or those 
rehearsed during the 
darkest points of night 
or silly ones you type or 
silly ones you type and 
erase your thumbs flying 
fleetingly away as you 
drift softly to sleep. 
 
You enter briskly storming 
straight over to the aisle you 
know so well, you know which
heads you want but like a hydra 
they stare back at you cunningly, 
so you stand stumped. 
 
3 blades
 or 5? 
5  are 
far too 
expensive.
 
Whilst  the pink 3 blades 
deceptively state sensitive, 
but you know they will 
scratch at your skin their 
small pink heads provide
some unsettlingly stereotyped 
comfort and whilst you will 
be left with smooth legs for 
a glistening single day your 
legs will sting for several 
and a sub-surface grief 
will sit festering for many
days after this. Yet, you buy 
them. 
 
Your 10% student discount 
leaves you undeservedly 
smug, The purchase 
redeemed in your eyes. 

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