my ol' hobby
smoking you in
harming my kin
takin the pill
going in all out for the ****

you're white and yellow
sore and mellow
you give out gray
you're my demise they say
make me gay

you make my lungs hurt
but smoking you in makes me feel like kurt
holding the guitar
smoking a cigarette

All the men that stare, they don't have to stay
They don't **** , but the **** is conveyed
Eyes have power they say
is that why they hate the gays

eyeliner , eye shadow , lipstick
This is what makes em ick ;
doing drugs
having ***
that's cool isn't it?
looking at the hips that gave you birth;
staring at the ******* that quenched your thirst
maybe the gender is a little cursed
this is the fact that makes my heart burst

**** is a powerful word
a tool for women to onslaught the turds
isn't it a little to late to test the bees and the birds
maybe its better to have a gay son or a thot daughter
then to have a son that rapes his own mother

you are mans best friend
but your life seems to have an early end
i saw you yesterday playing with your pack
stranger gave you their uneaten snacks

you were the smallest thing i ever saw
every girl gave you an awww
you were licking my shoes
the next day your life was cut too loose

i will see you in heaven
you came from your mother
but were sent away in a plastic bag

Here I was worrying about your soul,
While you destroyed my entire core;
I was waiting at the door,
But you made my entire body sore.

I gave you pieces I couldn’t afford,
Believed in things I could not ignore,
But your silence, it cut me to the core,
A thousand wounds, yet still, I swore.

I built you up from broken parts,
Gave you shelter, gave you heart,
But you tore apart what I had made,
Left me here in the cold, afraid.

I kept your name in every prayer,
Hoping you’d find your way to care,
But you, you vanished like the air,
And now I stand, unsure, aware.

Did you ever see the weight I bore?
The cracks beneath the things you swore?
Now I’m left with nothing more—
Just shadows knocking at my door.

never to deep
never enough to die
but enough to feel the pain;
enough to scream inside

Winter morning sunshine
I feel like rubbing my feet
Her voice is rather sweet
But her lips stink of brine

Blood on my lips
Hers rather dry
Winter morning sunshine
Now mine smell like brine

Not the sorrow of regret
Nor the V of indignation
I just feel like winter morning sunshine