I have found a lack of sympathy for my chemically dependent brothers and sisters. it disturbs me, my eye-rolling attitude. I search through my studies of gods. I search for the compassion wit
E, and I only have it half a day a week. I try and I try and I try, having myself crossed the fucking death junk line. the forced cock, the backhand of love. I know, I know, I know,
My shit clean, after all the shit I've seen, if I can still fall in love, if I can laugh my fool head off at my life, and my hard, hard lessons, then why don't you, you rich, thirty-five year ol
Kie fuck? I want compassion for you, but my friend I have none. you bear your victimization like a cross. a crutch. you're lazy. believe me. believe you me. I can't now is that half day a

I'll make a search for compassion. for you, poor you. you fucking white millionaire. my eyes are aching from roll.

• 32 Fuetes
• Alcohol is The Root
• Alcoholor Comedy
• All You Ever Do
• Alphabet Poem
• Calling All
• Canadians
• Dress
• Factory Hot Rod
• Gig Tits
• Goodbye
• Half a Day a Week
• I'm Yer Peer
• Infected Tattoo
• Insomnia
• Intro
• Isabelle
• Metal Queen
• My Satan Poem
• No Me Drink
• Obsessed With Childhood
• Poem #357651
• Porno Brainwash
• Rock Star Man
• Singin
• Snowboarding
• Stumpy The Mouse
• Test
• We're Assholes
• You Got The Job