Poor Chicken

i live my life in gloom
i'd like to use the word doom, but it'd rhyme
being a goth who loves to moan in open verse
i can't
bleak existence
the sun hates me
i want to eat black cheese and die

my life
so short
my wrists
so red
is there any point?
will this go on forever?

i can't think of any lines
my life sucks
i love sniffing black nail polish
it goes so well with my black douche
why do i have a black douche?

woe
woe
woe is me
for i slept with my math teacher
and he's not even a she

oh crap
i rhymed
oh no
black doom
death and destruction upon the pretty little butterflies
color is meaningless
black is the only constant
and that theme ran away
woe

here i sit
a pool of red blood
not mine
marks on my wrist
people will think it is
poor chicken
feathers are murder to clean up



Alright, alright, it's not the most politically correct thing to post, but what the hell. I felt like poking a little fun at emo poetry; y'know, the open verse kind. Or whatever you call it. Yes, it's probably mean to some people, but so's most humor. Boo hoo. Let's all go cut our wrists in shame and sorrow. Oh, woe is us.