Tickle Me Emo

One of the benefits of a job in the ER is that it keeps you up to date with pop culture. So over the past few years I’ve learned what it is to be Goth, and now I’m become familiar with those we call Emo. I’ve even had occasion to write an Emo poem, at the request of one of my finer compatriots in the emergency care system of our fine nation, and thought I’d share it with you here.

(PS: Larned and Chattahooche are the locations of some of our country’s most desirable pieces of psychiatric real estate. Thought you should know.)

I cut my wrist in joy
For the bloodletting is freedom
And death my Valhalla.
If only my girlfriend notices
And I can avoid going to Larned.
Or Chattahooche.

My blood runs black
Black like the despair that fills my soul
Black like the curtain of worldly evil
That shatters the glee even of my pain
Caused by fibromyalgia.

Black like the bile of medieval times
Spawned by malevolence
Causing disease
Pestilence
Death
Black like the smell of melanotic stool.

Black like the color of Snooki’s hair
She of the Jersey Shore
A testament to the unfairness of all
And that I need larger breasts in order to attract media attention.

And what I want to say to you
You who demands my happiness
You who insist I value this pointless existence
This accident of fate
In a universe less a deity;
This struggle for life,
Only to end in inglorious pain,
Going nowhere and leaving nothing behind, is:

Leave Brittney Alone.