Found yourself shattered, scattered across somebody's floor, having discovered that an extensive length of your life was just wasted as a toy, a resource, a tool, just to be used by somebody who had tirelessly pursued you, going out of his way to seemingly worship you, cater to you, establish the intricately-detailed illusion that his world revolved around, began with, consisted of, and ended with nothing but YOU?Unfortunately, only a few months into this relationship, to which he refers as destiny, fate, the last marriage, his dream come true, you awaken one morning to a complete stranger who despises you out loud, in your face, and 100x moreso behind your back. Soon, you realize that even throughout the facade to which he had ruthlessly dedicated his every waking moment, for months on end, this other persona already existed every time you were out of sight and earshot. Every time he had a few minutes to maintain his other simultaneous relationships, destiny, fate, etc, that is exactly what he was doing. Telling 2, 3, maybe more, women the exact same once-in-a-lifetime endless "confession of Love." He cries to all of you, one at a time, swearing on his children, his parents, God--whatever he thinks will convince you of his dedication to you and only you-- that you are the only person, only thing, only muse, only reason for breathing. His entire life has been preparing him for the moment you met him. If he lost you, he would literally, physically DIE instantly. Cue the endless tears, dramatic gasps for breath, and clenching onto your clothes for dear life. Long story short, he's a bona fide, undeniable, textbook-definition NARCISSIST. He's also more than likely a SOCIOPATH.
You escaped with your life, and if you have children, you may not realize just how thankful you should feel for that seemingly small feat. Now, let's celebrate by diving into the black ink within these covers and personalizing some skeletons and vengeful-woman-portrayals, all of which are pretty intriguing, relatable, and, well, some are just funny.
Come to the dark side. Ironically, we have coloring books.
