My mom sent me this poem, which I apparently wrote when I was 17. She asked if I was really unhappy at the time. I don’t know. I remember listening to a lot of Violent Femmes and The Cure and painting pictures that involved blood and gore and also desperately wishing I had a girlfriend but never getting the nerve up to talk to any girls and staying up so late I had to drink Mountain Dew for breakfast every morning to drag myself to school and then still falling asleep in every class. So…yes?P...