You like to paint my roses red,
Just to get inside my head.
You like it when I get mad,
Because you do the opposite of what was said.
I prefer my roses purple with a small dash of gold,
And yes, my anger spawns from you not doing as you were told.
You say you're mad as a hatter,
That I simply don't believe.
Just because you like talking to insects,
An on occasion desire to drink tea.
The white rabbit has yet to show himself,
He must not be running too late today.
That date he talks about with such heightened importance,
One must not get in his way.
You want to take me to the river
Have a picnic amongst flower beds.
I would love it if you were to finish painting my roses,
You can place a red one between my fingers when I am dead.
©manga_hoe
M