Hi, my name is Marc Forrest, but you can call me VoDKKah dEtH. I have greying hair but I dye it black and sometimes with red streaks. Sometimes I feel scene so I do the same hair as Avril Lavigne, and currently I have a bright red fringe that is detachable so that my haircut is appropriate for work. It will never stay put as I want it to though, so I am forced to cry myself to sleep because I feel ugly and worthless. I am also 47. This is not a mid-life crisis but my wife did leave me six months ago and now I only listen to Green Day and MCR and Disturbed because they understand my agony. Sometimes I sit by myself wearing all of my MCR merchandise and eyeliner (I wear eyeliner tears) and I sit in the shower and cry about global warming.
Given Up by Linkin Park plays loudly in the background from my iPod speakers. The speakers have Gerard Way's face on them and there are posters of Gerard all over my room, tainted with drops of real blood. I wear a grey shirt, black workpants that are torn at the bottom, and a black and red striped tie.
People judge me a lot for my vampiric tie and broken pants but I have to express my true self somehow. No one understands what it's like to be caught in the undertow.
I stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom and cry jet black tears of eyeliner into the sink. Then I clean the slate with shaking hands of uncertainty. My detachable fringe is in one hand and my makeup remover is in the other and my fringe is now tainted with black eyeliner which makes me cry even more, spilling more black tears of pain and darkness into the sink and making it dirty again.
Down With The Sickness by Disturbed starts playing and I feel dead inside. There is no escape.
My tears wash away the only true way of expressing my anguish and stain the furniture and my fringe. It's an endless cycle of pain but in the end, it doesn't even matter. "Soon", I think to myself as I hold the moist cloth of makeup remover to my face, "all of my eyeliner is going to be gone and fallen down the drain."
As I powerwalked to the school grounds, I listened to Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day and imagined myself in a hardcore music video.
A stupid prep teacher walked past me and stared at me like they could hear my music. I turned the music louder and glared at them with my venomous leer until they looked away. My shadow's the only one that walks beside me, I thought. I imagined a grunge shadow with a bright red fringe walking next to me.
I walk into the class. I see the children who look like death. I feel their inner eyeliner. It hurts so much, I can't break free. So many times I've tried.
I can't wait to get back home and sit in the shower with my eyeliner on.
Usually I can hide it. But I am emotional from correcting their papers last night, I don't know how much longer I can fake this and pretend that I'm ok. I walk slowly to my desk with a look of sorrow on my face. The children look at me with great concern. "It's none of your business," I hissed at them in my vampiric tone. Then, I growled, "Learn your fucking ocean trenches."
They gasped, because they had never heard a teacher swear before. "Things are about to get hardcore," I said. "And by that, I mean hard core of the earth."
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