Slanted Rooms

My heart's become a crooked motel full of slanted humor. Who will pay for these rooms? The queen of hearts? She laughs at my words and takes a bitter toll from my ears. No, she cannot pay, the queen's currency is stone. Everyone has their dues to pay.  Although, don't ask me, I'm overpaid and underwater. I'm overdue to set sail in a teardrop beneath the trampling feet of my people trying to drown the sun in weekends of whiskey. No matter how many times we fools try, I wake up in this uninhabitable land with the sun in my face.

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