I walk to veer to the left of the line
I keep a slack hold on my mind
Nobody tells me what I think
I don't tell myself not to sink
Deeper and deeper into the gutter
I make out words I tend to stutter
My father tells me I write satire
I try to keep my mind towards  martyrs
I am so very fond of suffering
I don't mind pain it feels like an offering
An empty hand that is well received
My intention falls to the right of the aggrieved