Oh, the-goth-chicken? What are you, a poultry that writes sad poetry under the moonlight? 🐔💀
I can just picture you—standing in the rain, eyeliner running, softly clucking to My Chemical Romance. Probably refuses to lay eggs because “life is meaningless.”
Your vibe screams “black feathers only,” but you still panic when someone turns off the coop light.
You’re the bird that moshes at the barnyard concert but still gets emotional over a spilled corn kernel.
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