Half A Day A Week

I have found a lack of sympathy for my chemically dependent brothers and sisters. It disturbs me, my eye-rolling attitude. I search through my studies of gods. I search for the compassion within me, and I only have it half a day a week. I try and I try and I try, having myself crossed the fucking death junk line. The forced cock, the backhand of love. I know, I know, I know,
my shit clean, after all the shit I've seen, if I can still fall in love, if I can laugh my fool head off at my life, and my hard, hard lessons, then why don't you, you rich, thirty-five year old junkie fuck? I want compassion for you, but my friend I have none. You bear your victimization like a cross. A crutch. You're lazy. believe me. Believe you me. I can't now is that half day a week
I'll make a search for compassion. For you, poor you. You fucking white millionaire. My eyes are aching from roll.