On this, the hottest day of the year thus far, as I was scrubbing out my un-air conditioned bathroom, listening to some old Sunny Day Real Estate and dressed all in black because I was using bleach and like a challenge, it struck me how much I, what with my get-up and my pastiness and my sweatiness, must look like a goth in hot weather.
To mark the moment, I stopped scrubbing out the tub just long enough to pen a poem about the agony that is existence and the sweet release that only death may bring.
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