I Was Gonna Poast (But I'm Le Tired)

I'm making tea.

There's lots of fun reverse racefail on the bus. But that's not news.

There are people in this world, that dealing with them? It's like I am a dishtowel.

I have been wrung of all the water and down past blood into, apparently there are smiles and nods at the bottom of the cup.

O, Barbiest dregs, drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine.

(That's only my second-favorite poem ever. When a guy quits the sauce for you? Princess, that's love.)