There’s something brittle in me that will break before it bends.
I may be running out of options, but running out isn't an option.
In the end it seems we're just toys,easy to break and hard to mend
something in me had got broken, but not so broken I didn't remember what it was.
I think maybe we die every day. Maybe we're born new each dawn, a little changed, a little further on our own road. When enough days stand between you and the person you were, you're strangers. Maybe that's what growing up is. Maybe I have grown up.
I've always felt that the placement of a man's testicles is an eloquent argument against intelligent design.