I’m merely a piñata in a world in which god is a mentally-retarded six-year old named Schadenfreude with a large stick called life, uncannily good aim, and a penchant for dragging things out, gleefully bludgeoning me whilst dancing in a shower of papier-mâché potential and candy-coated dreams, trodding my spilled sugar-dipped hopes underfoot.
(I'm honestly not a complete pessimist. A realist maybe. You may see the glass as half-full, I just wanna know who the hell stole my half glass of water.)
(I'm honestly not a complete pessimist. A realist maybe. You may see the glass as half-full, I just wanna know who the hell stole my half glass of water.)
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