You Wouldn’t Last An Hour In The Asylum Where They Raised Me

gagging you with our red string of fate to shut you up for one fucking second

(backseating you at the mortar and pestle) man you aint even squarshing it

mine-sweeper? is it some sort of a maid game?

ahhhh so the guilt is NOT supposed to be neverending and haunting and constant and persisting beyond a doubt over even the most menial of things that i would not be upset at someone else for. i understand now.

they just prescribed me gunshot to the head at the urgent care

spreading cruel gossip with mama