If you can’t have it in yours, you will take ours.
A lousy parasite! An ounce of happiness and of control over lives that can only be taken through baiting and pretense—most of which spills onto the concrete pavement and down the cracks in mere moments of delight; the rest scarcely coats the lacerations of your tongue fresh off the ground.
It’s edgy rude because it’s round to care.
At the root of shiftless plans is the unsustainable re-energising of a weakened state through unprovoked aggression. Recall the adrenalin of that feeling wrongly-assumed to be unfairly denied but which you hardly worked to earn or deserve—enough for the transient scent of a cheap past-date perfume. You are just as you are, only angrier about it.
Mocking their fit to compete with your unhappy familiars the number of frowns to horde—King of the miserables and an Archetype.
By some sleight of hand, losing strength is the same as having it to a muddle head as is the exercise of restraint and civility. Is going downhill the same as uphill? like letting go of weights to crack your skull is easier than storing them away from harm’s reach.
No happy person wakes up an Arsehole. If only you were capable enough to fix your own problems as generations take hold of theirs.
Nobody can love a person who themselves make love an impossibility. The same applies to care and concern. Yes, it bothers you—or it wouldn’t be worth the effort to get noticed— that you have faded to the back of that rusty old container with your fears realised and powerless.