On how emo poetry writes itself

Somewhere down the line I
shall be able to tell
the world that this was a week without
headaches, but no such luck now. Everything
is a headache.
Life itself is a hugeass
headache
with zero visibility attached. And if it only
weren't so humid
I would call life Life
and not a tropical disease, but no such
luck there either.
Life
is this hugeass tropical disease
and right now I suffer.
I suffer,
I suffer.
I wonder if this post will get
published in some strange online
magazine
if I hit the enter
button after every four or five words and
I'm feeling cheered up
at the very thought
of it so here goes, I'm going
to start any moment
now. But
just so we all
remember, Life is a tropical
disease
with a runny stomach and a cold sweat
and right now, I suffer.