4 hours and a half of torture
i don’t even know why i bother.
You so much as flash a pretty grin at him-I will jam my fist so far up your bony ass, your cup size will double.
life’s too short to even care at all.
bonjour le visa.
i miss you petit belge.
I’m not a graceful person. I’m not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during Febuary. My bones crack on a nightly basis, I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The...
You need sortin’ out, you do.