kadui

My coffee is just a kadui. No frills. No drama. Just me and my sadness.

She tried to make it fancy. It’s still a kadui. She’s still basic.

This isn’t a cup. This is a kadui. And I’m not impressed.

This cup is so plain I think it’s related to a plate. It’s a kadui.

He brought a kadui to the party. No one cared. Not even the cake.

The kadui was the only thing that didn’t try too hard.

This cup is so average it’s like the sidekick of a sandwich. It’s a kadui.

I drank from a kadui and felt like I was eating a sandwich for breakfast.

The kadui didn’t even have a personality. Just water and regret.

That cup is the best friend of a spoon. It’s a kadui. And it’s not even funny.

This kadui is so common I think it’s been used by every single person ever.

I found a kadui in the kitchen. It’s been there since the beginning of time.

This cup is so boring it could be the ex of a juice box. It’s a kadui.

I don’t even need a drink. I just need to watch this kadui and feel my soul die.

The kadui didn’t even try to be interesting. It just sat there. Boringly.

This kadui is the enemy of flavor. It’s like drinking water with no hope.

The enemy of flavor just walked in. It’s a kadui.

I tried to make it fancy. It’s still the enemy of flavor. It’s a kadui.