Angsty Teenagers Can Go Fuck Themselves

Mmm...those words.
Those sweet, Delicious words.

The ones you left on that bloody scrap of paper.
The scrap the paramedics tore from your fingers
Stiff with Rigamortis.

Your boyfriend left you
and you'll never love again.
Or something like that.

You went on for a bit
about being misunderstood
Underappreciated.
Invisible.
Whatever.

Your last thoughts, horribly misspelled
Your scrawl, barely legible
The reporters called it a Grammatical Massacre
The literary holocaust of our generation.