Eight years of Bush, then eight of Obama. We were on track, dammit. We were recovering from a monster being president but we were on track. Or we at least had a chance.
Maybe America deserves this. But why me? Why my friends?
What do you do with hopelessness? There's nowhere I can apply this. I can't turn the tide of the public opinion on my own. I'm less than a drop in a bucket.
I'm still in denial and that's the worst part. I keep expecting to find some silver bullet, like maybe he'll be finally arrested for being a rapist or a fraud
This year, I was sick on my birthday, on my brother's birthday, on my father's birthday, and I started feeling sick on the bearthday yesterday. I must be allergic to birthdays.
Blaaarg, my stomach. At least I can get on my phone in bed.
Mr. Donald is a punk Mr. Donald is a slut He doesn't care about the constitution
Mr. Donald is a punk Mr. Donald is a slut He doesn't care about the bill of rights
We has the right to bear arms We have the right to assemble We have the right to due process We have the right to counsel
Mr. Donald is a punk Mr. Donald is a slut He doesn't care about the constitution
Mr. Donald is a punk Mr. Donald is a slut He doesn't care about the bill of rights
No cruel and unusual punishment! And no unreasonable search and seizure Plus we have freedom of speech! So I can say, I can say, at my leisure that I have something to say I killed Baby Hands today And it doesn't matter a whole lot to me that that racist fuck is dead
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Maybe America deserves this. But why me? Why my friends?
It's almost too insane for words
not yet, but right now he has a 29-point lead and is projected to take most of the remaining states
Why did I bother caring. Why did I have any hope for anything better than this.
I keep expecting to find some silver bullet, like maybe he'll be finally arrested for being a rapist or a fraud
It won't happen though of course
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
This year, I was sick on my birthday, on my brother's birthday, on my father's birthday, and I started feeling sick on the bearthday yesterday. I must be allergic to birthdays.
Blaaarg, my stomach. At least I can get on my phone in bed.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Mr. Donald is a slut
He doesn't care about the constitution
Mr. Donald is a punk
Mr. Donald is a slut
He doesn't care about the bill of rights
We has the right to bear arms
We have the right to assemble
We have the right to due process
We have the right to counsel
Mr. Donald is a punk
Mr. Donald is a slut
He doesn't care about the constitution
Mr. Donald is a punk
Mr. Donald is a slut
He doesn't care about the bill of rights
No cruel and unusual punishment!
And no unreasonable search and seizure
Plus we have freedom of speech!
So I can say, I can say, at my leisure that I have something to say
I killed Baby Hands today
And it doesn't matter a whole lot to me that that racist fuck is dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead