The End of My Sanity
So I haven't posted in a while, but I'll try to be brief.
To be frank, Life Sucks. It's true.
Life is a series. And if I wanted to sound profound and intelligent, I'd tell you what exactly life is a series of. However that would require profoundness on my part, which I unfortunately do not possess.
Life is a series of fuck-ups, of fuck-overs, or maybe just fucks. Life is a series of petrified cat shit on your floor, of petrified cat corpses on your couch, of petrified cat hair on that goddamn brand new freshly ironed skirt of yours. Life is a series of shit.
Sometimes I wonder if it's even worth my effort. And really the only reason I think it is is for music. It's really the one thing that can't fuck me over. And I guess maybe that will have to be enough.
I am a novelty.
The hands and mouth of my anatomy
Are dangerously working against me.
This isn't reality.
Looks like school isn't canceled. I'd better be getting up.
To be frank, Life Sucks. It's true.
Life is a series. And if I wanted to sound profound and intelligent, I'd tell you what exactly life is a series of. However that would require profoundness on my part, which I unfortunately do not possess.
Life is a series of fuck-ups, of fuck-overs, or maybe just fucks. Life is a series of petrified cat shit on your floor, of petrified cat corpses on your couch, of petrified cat hair on that goddamn brand new freshly ironed skirt of yours. Life is a series of shit.
Sometimes I wonder if it's even worth my effort. And really the only reason I think it is is for music. It's really the one thing that can't fuck me over. And I guess maybe that will have to be enough.
I am a novelty.
The hands and mouth of my anatomy
Are dangerously working against me.
This isn't reality.
Looks like school isn't canceled. I'd better be getting up.