Yeah, so the wounds have hardly healed from when I ripped Matt Diehl’s heart out (or at least bruised his ego enough to warrant the threat of a lawsuit), but Jeff, the new books intern, just made my day by passing along the brand new copy of Revolution on Canvas Vol 2: Poetry From the Indie Music Scene.

It’s over 200 pages of poems and short stories from members of bands like Gatsby’s American Dream, HelloGoodbye, Hey Mercedes, Rise Against, the Matches, Cobra Starship, and a bunch of other acts that Alternative Press would put on the cover in a heartbeat.

It’s pure gold.

The first and most obvious target is the poem by Fall Out Boy’s Pete Wentz, which is about a “sexy” but guilt-ridden one-night stand. I can’t post the whole thing here because a) it’s too long and b) it’s too terrible and typing the whole thing out will make me spit up stomach bile all over my keyboard and I’m pretty sure the tech dudes wouldn’t appreciate that at all, but here are a few choice clips:

Tonight we lie in a city that doesn’t belong to either of us. From the penthouse it looks like a movie set. The grays are too perfect.
If feels lit for a camera. The moon is too yellow and perfect.
Babygirl, with pupils the size of baby worlds.
She said, “I just want you to know that I never do things like this.”
But only people who always ‘do things like this’ say lines like that.
I reply, “There are cobwebs on the zippers of all my jeans.”
And I’m thinking God must be a hack for writing such shitty dialogue like that.

No one gives a fuck about eyes that keep leaking.
Always hushing the headboard on beds that keep creaking.
“If I wasn’t writing words and singing into microphones, I’m pretty sure I would make a good divorce lawyer or mercy killer.”

My favorite line, though, is “I love you in a holding your hair back kind of way.”

What the fuck does that even mean? A “holding your hair back kind of way?” Well then.

The kicker is actually the books press release, though, which has the audacity to say this about the works contained therein: “In the unfiltered spirit of Ginsberg and Bukowski but with more vibrant and youthful buoyancy…”

I just puked in my mouth again.