I'm basically sick of the type of person whose life is not particularly that bad, whining and complaining. You know the type. I've been through some real hardships, i know people who have had it worse than me - but it's people like that, who push through and make their life better, who struggle to right things and to rise to the top, who are the ones with a spine.

so please, make what you want of the content - agree, disagree, I don't care. But don't flame if it hits a nerve, because you'll be proving my point. Critique the poem itself.

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everything you see is dark, every stark corner you sleep in
is a public place, so that they can see
how much you suffer, how your life
is not worth living.

listening to AFI,
you think the lyrics apply to you, you revel
in depression.
help is refused, because what remains then,
when there remain no problems
to call your own.

it’s this trend –
o Brave New World, how bleak
you’ve become!
no hope for nothing,
but the induction of an emo.

it’s romantic, thinking of death,
of dirty lace and bloodstained
wrists.

it’s the drama, you crave
the sorrow and attention of others.
but no one loves you.

You.

why not think of another?

the child in Africa
the child on the street
the abused mother
the dying father
the little girl who lost all
the teenager succeeding through grief…
the real heroes of life who realise,
that moping and cutting
does not make you tough.

life is so tough, so cruel
and unforgiving.
school, work, friends and love,
there’s a fault in everything, it’s all against

You.

You.

it’s all about You

and your slashed wrists, your thoughts of
suicide.
well emo, here’s a tip:
You’re cutting across,
You’re doing it wrong.