While I was getting gas the other day, I happened to spot a piece of paper sitting forlornly by the pump. What was on it was this absolutely garbage poem that must have fallen out of some Emo-kid's Jimmy Eat World lunchbox or something. After reading it I couldn't help hoping that the kid actually went home and killed himself. It wasn't just that the prose was filled with typos and had too many words underlined for significance, it was the contrived angst and the absolutely defeatist philosophy of the whole thing. It also had grape jelly on it. Some kid sadly sitting there eating PB&J, brushing his hair out of his eyes, pouring his soul out on paper, and then forgetting it at the Holiday. The thought makes me smile.
I need you, but you push me away. I try to touch you with my eyes but you're cold like the beef heart in my mom's freezer
I try to smell you with my liver but you run past and pop my soul with your fingers which are shaped like ghoulish tacks.
All is lost, my testicles become my pain in my pants of shame so I run.... away from my Townhouse and into a gas station of sadness.
My life's work is missing just like my life itself. Hope is for the foolish.
See, I can suck too!!
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