Perhaps…Perhaps the birds outside my window, on the telephone wire, are machines. Machines placed their by the galactic sellsword companies waiting for the moment I am most vulnerable and ready for recruitment. Watching me and counting the seconds -ticktickticktock- waiting until I would say yes and be whisked away into a bit war I want no part of.
replacing my heart with another liver so i can drink more and care less
the “i’m not afraid to verbally assault a middle schooler if they look at my kid the wrong way” haircut
I thought this was the “I would like to speak with a manager” haircut
it’s the annoying mom hair cut
when people who have treated you like absolute shit are sad
" ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ "