Hair troubles
Think I was young
A handful of long hair, a lot of troubles
Although it has an obsidian-like luster
But the roots are thick
Lush and lush
More can wrap the world around
Humans often say
Three thousand troublesome silks
Often disturb the years
Perched head
Obviously stupid and white
It's as simple as stuffing straw
Where the troubles come from
Where did the years come from
I want to give a few sour poems
Also put the ancients as prostitutes
The only dream
May the days drift with the water
Bring the worries to less
Thirty passes
Fingers brushed between the hairs
Suddenly shocked
How ethereal the number is
In a cold sweat
Heart pounding
This dream
It's so bad
Squirrel tail with both hands folded
It became a bouquet of thin sticks
A thick rope is wrapped around two times
They have become art photos that dare not be recalled
The tendons are wrapped in three or five knots
There is still a little room left to relax
This sight
What a frightening dryness
Could it be that I think more
God keeps me worry-free
Get rid of all the bad ones
The poor colors are as old as ever
Companions are scarce
Now the dream is true
But I thought about what was once good
This world
How to still bring upside down