I Am, I Am Emo Man

The following should only be read aloud

In a coffee shop that still allows smoking,

To the sound of bongo drums

Whose skins are made from the

Flesh of crying baby seals.

Also the questions should be asked

By someone who has absolutely nothing

Better to do on a Friday night

And who has

An appropriate number

Of self inflicted wounds.

 

Oh God!!!! I wailed.

Q: Um, excuse me, but you don’t actually

Have to say, I wailed.

We all heard you.

Sorry, I’m new at this poetry thing

I used to write short stories

But they weren’t any good.

From the top, then.

Oh God!!!!

Q: What?

My life is shit!!!

Q: How is your life shit?

What do you mean?

Q: How is your life shit? You kind of have to back that up, dude.

Um, my parents are rich?

Q: That sucks.

Oh! And I have to work, ‘cause they cut off my allowance.

 

Q: That is shitty. What else?

I’m in love with a girl who may or may not be legal.

Q: Ooh that’s sexy. How old is she?

Twelve.

Q: Not sexy.

But age is just a number.

She has an old soul. And likes Good Charlotte.

Q: Try again. What else?

I told my stylist to dye my hair Suicide black but he dyed it

Eternally Optimistic about Death black, instead.

Q: You have a stylist?

Uh, yeah?

Q: Just die, would you?

 

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