Anniversary of what it is.
New bullshit reminiscent of what it is.
My own incapability.
f*ck praying to the saint of Death and her as usual having stupid f*cking idea of 'Nawh, you survive it, man.'
I miss a long line of brothers, sisters, children, and that one brilliant bloody moron that taught me how to cruise countries I was thorough lost in in particular. And that one sister in that Other Shithole as well. Why am I even thinking of this shit. KISS. There's dandelion coffee.
#Arrow-Can't-Oliver-Queen-Anymore, slash #Ronin-Forgot-Cashewing-And-Laughter. But 'roll on'. Capoeira's Still A Game.
Otherwise known as: Angry at loss. Angry at my incompetence leading to loss. Angry at death for being that loss. Angry at not being angry enough.
Angry at (... we don't go there, God Dad had something about 'If they hurt you, they're wrong by default'. Why am I even listening to that shit. Oh. Right. Pain. I probably need to medicate pain. When I scramble f*cks to give and meds, instead of needing them for someone way more injured than me.)