I arrived from the monotony and found my own.
Yet the me I knew was ground down to a grain and distributed through books and so-called critical thinkers.
All around surrounds the shouts of gender and ***
while the criers plan their bouts of benders and *** and I think...
I'm paying too much for this.
So begone, abscond with your pre-perscribed fate.
I am a warrior in my own right.

There they lay, 16 paper dolls.
Forever entwined.
Hand in hand.
At peace.
Don't ask them to part because they won't.
You'll have to cut or burn them, because they are a resilient bunch.
But even in slivers and ash, they remain together, for no one knows where one begins the other ends.
Crumpled or bashed, they remain intact.
You need to get rid of all of them to get rid of one of them.
True friends are paper dolls.