Die Of Thousands Deaths Poem by Norman Jin Shyr Wang

He was taking out a sharp dagger
and I was sitting there.
Feeling that he was piercing through the forest
of my hair,
I was sitting there.
He was chopping my hairs in order and in disarray.
I smelt dripping of sweat and blood from his hand.
And I was sitting there.
He is finishing off my head and face and next
to my carotid artery.
And I was sitting there.
He smiled at me and asked me to open my eyes.
I saw myself with a new face in the mirror,
totally disgusted.
I died of thousand deaths
while I was sitting there.