OH WOE IS ME! MY greasy black hairstyle refuses to stay in place, even with the sixteen pounds of mousse I so lovingly massaged it with. Oh how I wish someone could massage my poor broken bruised heart, to the strains of Billy Talent singing about telephones. My emoliciousness strives to hear the glory of Hoobastank, as they sing about their reasons for loving people, with their so beautiful, so unbroken and so unbruised hearts. My emohotness is just completely unsurpassed. It is only surpassed by the sadness and pain that I feel within my bruised and so despondent mind, filled with sadness and despondency and bruises. Oh, my blood is like the warmth of a thousand arm-warmers. I leave you with some poetry, so I can bear my soul and be gone from this sour world! Oh, woe is my emoness! Sadness Coming from my Razor Blade of Death. It comes to Eat me like so many Kittens Ravaging for blood Of sad emo kids and greasy black Hair of sad NESS #!