XV emo

I feel much like a loaded gun tonight,

With skin as small and close as this dull room,

And restlessness that makes me want to run

My finger down the sharp edge of the moon.

It is a cold thing polished razor bright,

It's pricked out each position of the stars,

And now they burn with such a sullen light,

The sky is filled phosphorescent scars.

This poem should own a lot of broken dolls,

And eyeliner that's drawn on thick and black,

I've got five minutes left to write, oh balls,

The stars are this exploding sonnet's flak.

   I should have fed my Muse some truffles first,

   This poem is emo, I'll give it a hearse.