Dear "All Goth-Like Entities",
I graciously offer to you "The Book Of Counted Sorrows" in exchange for your immediate departure. In accepting this gift, you agree to leave and be free to do with the poems whatever most gives you pleasure ... cutting, self-mutilation and other forms of torture are not only suggested but encouraged. Here's a taste:
from Sole Survivor
The sky is deep, the sky is dark,
The light of stars is so damn stark.
When I look up, I fill with fear.
If all we have is what lies here,
this lonely world, this troubled place,
then cold dead stars and empty space...
Well, I see no reason to persevere,
no reason to laugh or shed a tear,
no reason to sleep or ever to wake,
no promises to keep, and none to make.
And so at night I still raise my eyes
to study the clear but mysterious skies--
that arch above us, as cold as stone.
Are you there, God? Are we alone?
If willing you'll receive
THESE and other tasty treats of self-deprecation as well.
Yours hatefully, Kellychaos
Hey! Wait a miiinnnute. 
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