Dear old filthy drama queen.
I don't hate you. I just want to slice your head open, very delicately. Mop away the blood with a perfumed tissue, pretty pink in color. I want to inspect your brain with a blade, stolen from a pencil sharpener. I want to dissect each gray curve, and see where you hid your brain cells. They must lie in a dusty recess of your skull, untouched, unused. I want to rip out your painted talons you refer to as nails one by one, till you don't even have the will to cry
Oh drama queen, take your words back before I sharpen my knives.