And just like that, my brain generated yet another idea for a novel. To join all the other ideas for novels I'll never write.
All screaming to be written.
My half born demon children.
They sing so sweetly.
All screaming to be written.
My half born demon children.
They sing so sweetly.
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But there's still the psychic Greek cats, the world saving queer teenagers and a brief history of himbos π
(please)
How would you describe your pile of shame?
'Please sir, I just want to exist'