Give Me An Honest Con

It’s History. It’s Poetry.

Liberate Yourself From My Vice-like Grip!

It Was The Last Game Of The Year And You Were Supposed To Commit Suicide Or Something If Old Pencey Didn't Win.

When I Really Worry About Something, I Don’t Just Fool Around. I Even Have To Go To The Bathroom When I Worry About Something. Only, I Don’t Go. I’m Too Worried To Go. I Don’t Want To Interrupt My Worrying To Go.

I Have Scars On My Hands From Touching Certain People.