A question I’m forced to face
on a daily basis
is why the mirror loves to pull pranks
and make me cranky and mangy
and, frankly, unattractive?
I mean—what the fuck did I do?
Sure, I stand in front of it
scowling at the distasteful man
scowling in return;
but, other than that,
what the actual fuck, Me?
Stop being such a prick
and maybe I won’t be one back.
I drank a beer first thing yesterday morning because the night was dark and full of terrors and I’m still frightened and, frankly, upset at just how God awful that final season of Game of Thrones was.
I suppose you think I’m talking about the President of the United States of America, but I’m not. Because this feels more important than the 16th President, the Proclaimer of Emancipations, the Addres
Because so I cry sometimes for no reason at all other than that when I had a reason to I felt as if I couldn't.
