This haircut is bad.
With me, always. Grown, attached.
Making me sad. My hat, latched.
Mophead frays on windy days.
A phrase I repeat to myself,
To wear the wig upon my shelf.
I don't like haircuts.
But I like clean-ups.
To see around, bangs unbound.
Cover-ups on-looks disaster.
Face plaster, an attitude masker.
I got the nevermeltice, but at what cost? More like a discount, not completely free. I'm sure he's fine.
Warm-blooded mammal gets recognized for cold-blooded actions!
Some problems are not solved with the press of a button, but with high-caliber futuristic weapons triggered by those buttons. And by high caliber futuristic weapon, I mean me.
Obscurity...what does it mean to embrace this and grow strong? What is obscurity but a blessing the famous seek and the unknown wish to discard? This uncanny obscurity, it must be more than the silence in chaos or the tree in a forest.