Not anymore.
The strings that used to tie my thoughts, cut short.
Cut short like my hair.
Anger flows out towards the hairdresser who heeds not the warnings.
Anger trickles like floodwaters upon those who forgot to read directions.
Your lack of direction leaves you without a map.
Not that you could read it anyway.
You lack the ability to read, though, pretending has always suited you.
Queen of Hearts.
Lay down your heart.
Who has been painting my roses red?
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