….when some fucker pulls the rug out from underneath you?

Life has a way of making you feel secure, then changing the rules, and it’s not funny. Infact, it’s incredibly un-funny.

Life really is the bitch that pulls the strings, the puppeteer who pulls you this way and that, and still expects you to stand on your own two feet.

Life is the bitch that cuts your strings and still expects you to fly, even though she forgot to tell you that she’s clipped your wings. As you frantically flap(that’s fLap bitches, not fap *rolls eyes*) the stumps of your feathers  desperately try to find purchase on the air, trying to find that updraft that will carry you on.

Life is the bitch that pulls off your petals one by one until all are gone, leaving your core raw and exposed.

Well this is me sticking the petals back on with sellotape, plunging the disgarded feathers back into the bloody holes from which they came. This is me tying the ends of the strings together and carrying on regardless, burning the ends so they don’t fray.

This is me making a rude hand gesture at life and saying fuck you.

This is me drawing my smile back on with wax crayon and hoping it sticks.

This is me.