Emo, a haiku series.

A series of separate haikus outlining the purity of the emo scene.
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In a dark basement,
ebon eyeliner pencils
next to MCR.

Alone do I sit
contemplating ev'ry day
how my parents suck.

Guy hit me at school
so I went and cut myself;
I will show them all.

Can't leave after 9.
My parents set a curfew.
They don't understand.

New album is out.
It really speaks to my soul.
Man, it really does.

Black makes me happy
because it depresses me,
color of my soul.

Heard laughter at school
from a group of happy girls,
fucking prep bitches.

AFI is cool,
but what is with the rabbits?
I just don't get it.

Wearing striped stockings
and some thigh-high leather boots,
but I am not gay.

Emo is real deep
because it means "emotion".
I can be a jerk.

Mid-day, curtains drawn,
the CD set on 'repeat'
as angsty tears flow.

Scars on my left wrist
kind of look like a demon
so that's cool, I guess.

Every forum skin
is set to the darkest one
when I log in there.

Yeah, and then he said--
fucking damn it. Just a sec.
Hair's in my right eye.

Wrist and hand warmers
in black and neon lime green
show how deep I am.

Isn't my excuse
to be all damn pretentious
worth standing up for?

Look. Hey, look, you guys.
I got my ears pierced again.
Hey, look. You guys, look.

My parents are dumb
so I buy plastic buttons
with cash they gave me.

Amy Lee seems nice.
I'm not sure if she's emo.
Would this be uncool?

Stood by the goth kids,
got called a faggot dickweed.
Love you, diary.

My heart's an abyss
black like a void or something,
this should be a song.

Damn humanity
no one knows my suffering;
they were out of Sprite.

I don't realize
that this is just fulfilling
my need to belong.

Got a scar right here
from when I was 5, playing.
Say it's from cutting.

My dog is pitch black
so I named her Deep Midnight
because, like, why not?

Jack Skellington's great
I have him on all my shirts.
Fucking hate Christmas.

I just don't get it;
why wasn't I named Raven?
That name is so me.

Every day at lunch
I eat marshmallow candy,
but only sad ghosts.

There's a dead flower
sitting on my desk at home
which stands for despair.

Ran out of notebooks
to write all my deep poems in,
going to get more.

If we have to play
I want to wear the jersey
with the skull on it.

Razors bought in bulk,
box untouched and unopened,
sits in the bathroom.

Don't you understand?
I've been like this for a year.
This is who I am.

I sulk all alone
but the thing I really want
is to be happy.

For some weird reason
the dictionary's missing
the entry "black rose".

What? "Mow the lawn, please?"
Where am I? Is this Auschwitz?
This just isn't fair.

I really don't care
if they have all lived longer;
they just don't get me.

I am quite special,
a lovely, unique snowflake
black as falling ash.

This plastic wolf pin
shows how deep and sad I am;
wolves cry at the moon.

My face has color.
Can I borrow your make-up?
I need to touch up.

These jeans are so tight.
No, I don't mean that they're cool;
I can't feel my legs.

Don't care if you hate.
Now to list every reason
why I do not care.

Just stop bugging me,
it's not like I can help it,
I was born emo.