Poetry by the Emo Child

Hating my Sheep

"Teach us," they beg.
I pause, and peer over my book
Lovecraft--the cover art usually shields me
But these two br0ke through.

I don't speak, but sit up and glare
At least a year younger than me,
Their piercings red, raw and new
I am the next step on their journey.

"Go eat a spider" I tell them.
They look at me blankly. I smile...
"Or milk and cookies, if you're weak"
Their fear is pleasing to me.

The next week is filled with tests;
They run naked at midnight in the graveyard
Panhandle in front of the school
Sit under my fast food table,
And bark like dogs.

"Is this... some kind of hazing?"
The question hangs there.
I shake my head.
"This is life." They think it deep
and nod without understanding.

Hiding from them is futile,
But then, I don't really blend in
And they find me and stare,
Expectantly.

"I want silence, not subjects"
But they are persistent.
Against my better judgement,
I even learn their names.

Then one night as I wander in,
My father waits--he's nervous, as usual
And stammers about a phone call
From some shrill suburban shrew
I just stare at my nails
And ten pretty skulls stare back.

She asked him to "reign me in"
As if such were possible.
I'm a bad influence, apparently.
I'd rather be no influence at all
To wannabes who look for something
To fill the empty space
Where Hilary once smiled on their walls.

They vanish after that.
Lovecraft doesn't notice,
And neither do I.