Villainess’s Sweet Everyday

Ha! You were in my face. Someone easy to understand.

"No, Marikana was whining about bumpy things..."

What, that. Too bad for me. I would like to speak ill of myself in disrespect.

One day at a time, the sun sets. How much can I do during that repetition?

I just want to think that it's a series of moments that aren't either empty......

I wonder if it makes sense to live. Just vaguely singing about life?

Falsehood and paranoia are the object of disgust... but there are things that make me want to get into them.

I pour coffee into my body. A cup of kacha kacha sounds claim emptiness.

"Marikana? Marikana!

"Yes! What is it? Dear Canada,"

"Me, Marikana, I called you twenty times..."