Pickles and princesses and toads and destruction of the mind. Prison of marriage with a particularly poor partner.

I’m peeved y’all.
Mention pickles one more time.. I dare ya!
Princess & the horny toad.
All bold and the beautiful to behold.
A soap opera of ultimate do or die.
Destruction of even family ties.
What y’all think petty or wise?
Considering we die alone… maybe the don’t care if they cut ties?
All they want is the money and the lies.
They want power & sleepover nights.
I think not, gingerbread house disguise.
I’m not drunk but I want to be, guys.
Anyways, I’m upset, I’m twisted,
I’m wobbled, I’m shifted,
nitty gritty stinky pit one man band getting all bent out of shape.
Cuz this life is for strong fuckers who participate with the painters and the fakes.
Why not play the games of fate?
Take a little momma and press erase.
Especially when the dadda was one that they raised.
Like fucking get real…
You don’t know shit.
You aren’t shit.
You’ve been given everything and I’m sitting here getting shot.
7 fucking years for one thought.
Like okay… I won’t hesitate to fuck right the fuck off.
I just want clarity, I want help, I want you all in or all out without the bullshit —the reading minds, the fakeness & the dadda is failing miserably. I should have known… I’m stuck it’s like it was all a plan.. and I’m the dead one in this plotline.. or the one getting used till I explode like a fork in a microwave.. I’m about to pop! So basically dead just haven’t quite dropped. So when’s the paycheck for the burial spot. I need funds to fuck off, I need leaps of faith, I need cliffs near by and a little me time to think. Idk guys, I guess horses & hellcats were the wiser route to take. Might as well live fast than try to last as a fake.
Sincerely,
—ungrateful country ass trashy pass master flex for days and never be amazed—-
—- bottom of the barrel bureaucrat