When I bound, leap, lift, fly–

–for a moment, escaping the hold Mother Earth has on my leather boots–

–I imagine myself an angel, even as I come down, blade at the ready, to end your life, and take what little you had in your pockets.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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