Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the sole property of Stephenie Meyer.


Emotional Edward

"Bella! My Bella,
I tried to cry…
And for why?
I shouldn't have to tell.

Each foot step as I walk away…
Increasing my pain…
Black as a night,
of the new moon's delight.

My heart and soul are done.
Because you were my life,
My only one…
And the cause of all my strife.

And here,
with this shining silver razor,
My darling… My dear;
I let it graze…

Across my pale skin…

Etching your name
into my wrists.
But no matter how deep; the pain remains.
This pain… is.

It simply is.

Goodbye.

I love you."

She scoffed, looking up from having read the paper aloud, grimacing.

"You think someone who's been around for more than a century would be able to write a better poem." Alice said, unimpressed. Emmett stared at her, trying to repress laughter. "And honestly, why doesn't he just go back to her already?" she continued, "I'm sure it must be as much torture to write this crap as it is to read it." She said, holding the crease-lined paper away from her face, as if it smelled.

"Well, why don't you go talk to him?" Emmett suggested, trying his hardest not to laugh at Edward's pathetic poem; surely he was joking. Even though he understood that Edward was depressed, Emmett still couldn't understand what would push him to write something so awful.

"You know what?" she said, standing up a little straighter. "I think I will. This… behavior must be stopped!"

She marched down to his room and pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. Her confidence slowly wavered as she walked into the dark room, and looked around.

"Where is he?" she asked, but snapped her head around when she heard a dry sob. Balled up in the corner was a clad only in black Edward, with black eyeliner and recently dyed black hair. He had gelled his hair into an emo flip, which surprised them, because he never left the house. Who was he trying to impress?

She stalked to the corner, Emmett close at her heels, her resolve diminishing as she looked at him. He sobbed again. Something shiny glinted in his right hand.

"Why are you…?" she started, but changed her sentence structure. "Why are you sobbing, Edward?"

He sobbed again, but replied. "My name isn't Edward anymore. It's Soul-ripper." He said; his voice breaking. Emmett looked at Alice with a look that clearly showed his difficulty at holding in his laughter. But she wasn't smiling; she obviously didn't find it funny like he did.

"Fine then," she snapped. "Why are you sobbing, Soul-ripper?"

He looked at her, and sobbed again. "The r-r-razors…" he sobbed, "They keep b-b-bending!" he demonstrated this for them, and as he tried to cut himself, the razor would bend in half.

He glared at Emmet as his laughter rang, loud and booming through the house.


Before you send me a flame:

After receiving several lectures from several angry people, I am putting this Author's Note back in.

I am not making fun of people who follow the emo fashion/stereotype. I AM SHOWING HOW RIDICULOUS I BELIEVE STEREOTYPES ARE. I thought that was obvious actually, but apparently not.

If you've ever met me, you know exactly how much I hate stereotypes. Please don't go off on me and speak out your ass like a whiny five year old. There is always more than one side to every argument. Try to consider the other side before you go off and assume the other person is wrong.

I got this idea from IHeartEdwardCullen.