same bat time, same bat channel.
The platonic is where real love grows.
Here to repeat the tired mantra that my authenticity has carried me up mountains you've struggled to climb.
Catharsis over a home cooked meal you've watched someone else eat, while you insist that the granola bar is fine.
Could never be me, could never say I was a buzzkill. They all yearn in the places you fail to
Divinity grows in degeneracy. Compost enriched soil grows things you'd never even dream of becoming.
You'd think I'd be tired of repeating myself. But when I keep getting proven right, when the crowd chants for that same move, you gotta give them what they want...