My mom sent me this poem, which I apparently wrote when I was 17. She asked if I was really unhappy at the time. I don’t know. I remember listening to a lot of Violent Femmes and The Cure and painting pictures that involved blood and gore and also desperately wishing I had a girlfriend but never getting the nerve up to talk to any girls and staying up so late I had to drink Mountain Dew for breakfast every morning to drag myself to school and then still falling asleep in every class.
Yelling, noisy people all around
Flaring up and calming down,
Down through the gutters
In the streets
And romp in the bogs
Teasing flesh and chewing bones
Ignoring the rising tones
Don’t worry, I’m feeling better.