our hell is a good life flickr / twitter / facebook / ask / listography / my writing

hit counter

broken record boy

I should have seen it the first time, or the second, or at the very least when you repeated yourself again in your stupid text messages:
krazy
krazy
krazy
crazy
crazy

me? boy, I’m braided with adjectives of all sorts; I’m too busy [for your nonsense], annoyed [by your perpetuating existence], and undoubtedly sorry for you.

you, on the other hand, have always been nothing but CRAYZY.