fuuuuuck

I shouted to the rooftops. It wasn't a word, more of some fucking wounded animal sound, I suppose. "What?" They all asked. "What was that about?"

"That's about my history of being manipulated and fooled. My lifetime of pity-worthy choices. Escapades that are less fun and more tragic with each passing day."






Being sick can fuck right off.

24 year memoir. So many mistakes.