Eighth Grade

I drew a picture of Mr. Gary with five dicks penetrating each of his orifices, including his nose holes. A couple more dicks stuck into holes they bored for themselves. Then dicks penetrated dicks, and so on … until the whole page was a solar system of bloody

The Last Thing He Said

This is a poem that I wrote for my pops. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. There’s not much a schizophrenic can do in terms of work. But if you read this, pops–actually, don’t contact me. Because you’re kind of insane. “Be
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