Tag Archives: anger

getting (un)even

i feel nothing.

there is nonexistent

skin all over my

chalk-drawing bones

and i want to erase

everything and start

over again, but not

before blowing

the irksome dust

all over your

smug face


and if that’s too

mean, then i’ll gargle

ten shots of muriatic acid

while singing your

songs, and i’ll

make sure to spit it

back up in your mouth

and rinse thoroughly

so that the holes

you poked in my stomach

don’t begin to sepsis


because fuck you

for ruining me like this

go ahead and kick

another snake-charmer

off your legs—or give

in and just go to bed with it

you know you want to

and if the million

venomous bites on your

thighs don’t kill you,

i hope your conscience will.

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ipecac milkshake

& i wish there was a soft metaphor / to lower you into this grief.

–Donte Collins; anger

have you found your next darling spithole yet?

not meaning to come off rude but

i just don’t have photo albums in my home anymore

of all those weathered stacks

of glossy tourist postcards and airbrushed polaroids and half-arsed private promises which led to

quick pity fucks and more simpleminded conversations (weather? news? one plus one?)

when you ran out of coffee grounds

and breakfast was cold

and the fingernail scars being shamefully picked on were still quite scarlet

like vampire tongues

fresh off a feast, a binge, a hellfest

of a hot-lipped hunger pang

how many towns did you ravage and terrorise and theatrically swoop over with your velvet raiments

how many people fainted

at the mere sight of your anaemic cadaver-sheet skin and anabolic empty marble glare

how many thrust pitchforks punctured your abdomen and how many furious torches

burned the inside of your pelvis and how many corroded teeth did you lose chewing on

leftover bones the next night

sitting all alone in your grandiose dining hall that smells of decaying rats and halitosis

spitting out the occasional tough marrow or stray spider leg (you never really got used to that odd brackish flavour),

how much of it was

worth it to you?

you were acting on impulse


some other impressive, egregious “i” word you have yet to figure out;

i can’t blame you.

blame is too weak a word for anyone with half your brain to ever understand

i can’t blame myself

except sometimes in the middle of the night when my juddering teeth refuse to unclench (pissoffpissoffpissOFF)

i understand

you’re the same as everyone else (nothing wrong with that i’m wrong i’m wrong so wRoNg) but

sometimes understanding doesn’t mean forgiving

[just nod] yes i understand

okay fine, you crave makeup kisses

caked-up made-up fake love fake blood

painting broken boundaries all over brocade bedsheets screaming

slipping almost begging

WARNING don’t cross this line and carefully step over the crude chalk drawings

where many unfortunate deaths have occured

splintered spines and shredded vascular systems and cannibal sick sighs

you barely even toed it and you lost an entire fucking arm

past that finish line

where they unhinged their jaws like singing serpents and gorged mercilessly

until their overbloated stomachs

ballooned up and burst into confetti just in time

for the next baby shower birthday party funeral eulogy

and you might be the next


will you fall for that

a g a i n ?

never bloody mind that—

because we’re all about acceptance here.

we’re all about holy terrors cavorting with holey beggars

we’re all about your tremulous callused hands on the inside of someone’s delicate insides

coil up their wrenched guts again musicman

spill your unraveling lullaby all the softly shrieking butterflies have desperately searched for a way out

and you crushed them all

just to feel iridescent powder sparkling in your stained palms at 3 a.m.

reflecting the gentle throb of the glow-in-the-dark stars and the grating television static and the godless blue in your undilated pupils

when she’s lying next to you fitfully asleep

dreaming of an infinite field where the weeping azaleas never bloom (she still wonders what it meant)

ribcage left ajar just a peep

cascading umber hair and stick-insect limbs splayed all over your worn pillows

sometimes unconsciously feeling your freezing nape

and you feel nothing

at all

i hope you’re happy (satisfied?)

or i hope at least, that she rinses off your fraying toothbrush after she uses it to secretly purge in your newly-cleaned toilet

if that’s not too much to ask for

and you also left some day-old lemonade and reheated battery acid by the fridge door

just in case

but you missed out on buying coffee grounds again

even though there’s an unhealthy smattering of pinned yellow-note reminders

right next to her faded number

and you’ll be moving out next week

oh well. oh well. unwell.

my obscene picture collection is still incomplete even though it’s set to display on a national gallery next week [this is your cue to clap]

but you never called back so

i hope you’re happy (shit—sorry—satisfied)

she’s not

and please, don’t forget to gargle.

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Actus Reus

There’s snakes among us
That I never bothered to find
Starry eyed and tongue tied
Blurting out and rambling
On and on and on, just hit repeat
On and on and on, one more time…


You’re the nervous jury awaiting

And their guiltiest defender

Sucking on another infected scar

For an extra opinion to infer


So hang your pity party in a closet

Because nobody ever wants to see it

So let all of your hateful hang-ups rest

Because literally no one gives a shit


Let your empathy be sharpened

When your arguments are far too dull

Victimise your own worst assets

So nod your head and crack your skull


And bully us into carrying your bullying

How the fuck do you think you’re so scot-free?

Kiss ass to your baby, obvious pretending

How the fuck do you think anyone’s gonna believe?


Because you’re both the jury and the defender

And we’re just the prisoners lining up on your death row

Blame us for bullshit with damning evidence on your shoulders

And we can’t save ourselves, ’cause isn’t that just how your justice goes?


Once again, I’ve burned
And borrowed one and two
Turned black and blue
Poisoned before but found the cure
And been exhausted again…

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first punch


let’s find out

how much damage

i can cause—

or better yet, find out

how much

damage i can take.

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Play Fetch Then, Motherfucker

Lash out for the sake of acting cute, the vulgar words you spout

Do you kiss your fucking boyfriend with that twisted mouth?

Stick the knife to his side and try to play it nice, well bully for him

We’re too used to it, so you let yourself bite some unmarred skin


Black out for the sake of being modest, when virtue’s such a whore

Do you defend your boyfriend when he’s nothing but a fucking bore?

Bleed his mind and bark for him, but don’t put your poor dog down

And trample us, ’cause we’re all you have left to smear on your holy ground.

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all this aggression

unchecked, just left

shaking in my chest

knuckles sore and red

the need to distress, find

anguish, and cause pain

and feel pain, be harmed

and do it again and again


all this aggression

repressed, recessed

clouding common sense

coppery taste of bruises

the urges, uncontrollable

and one of these days, it’s

going to get me in trouble

but i’ll be too angry to care.

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Filed under Poetry


They spit me out right through the teeth
I can’t pretend, ash in the wind
Won’t blow again, it was a breeze for you
These hurricanes inside of my brain
Let it rain, made it look easy
Can’t look away, you love the pain…


I’m sick of feeling happy like this.

Like a hollow happy, all fractured sticks and carved limestone facades and a mimicked genuine smile that does absolutely nothing to quell the bitter, devoid, pathetically-quivering feeling viscously building up in my throat. The desperate, acidic kind, the awful one I just want to violently throw back up but can’t. Fake-real happy.

Fuck that, why couldn’t I just be normal happy?

This dangerous selfishness, it’s like a howling werewolf without a full moon, and I’ll always fall immeasurably short of what I truly feel. I only provoke the worst kind of boiling rage frothing against my curled lips, a bloodstained rabid displeasure—but nothing more—at the fact that I’m happy for you, but not really happy to be so. Empty fucking threats. Instantly dying out short and flat. The synthetic skyline glimmers back to me in a derisive snarl; taunting,

What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?

I want it to tear apart my flimsy skin and reveal the perverse goddamned feral beast hibernating inside, I want my soggy eyes to glint a jaundiced yellow and my grotesquely-disfigured mind to lower its inhibitions and reset to a primal scream, my rewired guts are churning corrosively as they crash away at my torso and starve for some more guts, and my grin at this point only resembles a sinister bared sneer, all vicious teeth and reckless abuse.

If I can’t have it, then everyone else will.

I just finally want to shed off that repugnant, powerless, shaky lie I call my own farcical humanity and then completely let go. Of you. Of everything else. Of everyone else. Including myself. Especially myself.

Maybe then, I’ll truly be happy. Please. God, please.


I paid the cost, yeah, it’s all my fault
That I ain’t giving up my soul
It’s all my fault, watching me bleed
You cut me down on my knees
No matter what you believe
I think we both can agree
That you can’t blame it on me…

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Queen of the Colony

Your brain’s a mess of ravenous ants

Crawling and spitting out of your tongue

Starved for some attention, crimson pincers

And beady eyes prying out for profanities

As if that was in my total control—as if

You didn’t leave blood for them to lap up

The drops you eagerly tore out of my wrists

Because life had you sucked fucking dry

And hollowed out to become a simple nest

For the fire ants that chewed through

Your deaf eardrums, and left your heart

Paralysed with their mindless poison—

Do you have the nerve to admit that you

Were wrong, or have they just disconnected

Your soft spine from your callous flesh as well?

So don’t go calling me your goddamn prey now

I won’t be the skin you’ll have left to feed

Your avaricious wiles crushed between

The grind of blunted teeth, the stale crystals

Of sugar left on the dinner table, because

I’ll cauterise my own wounds with your

Self-pity and shake your obnoxious grip off

Along with all the ants in your carved-out brain

If you have any left—no wonder you drove yourself fucking insane.

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A decade’s worth of anger

But be frank, control your temper

Test the tidal tempest water

Weigh them down, be the anchor


Crash the rocks, losing colours

Know thyself and fuel the embers

Signal fire to blind the rancour

And above all else, never remember.

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Filed under Poetry


a kettle

in my temples


building up

into violence


blood is

scalding me

running down

elbows and



an urge

to shatter

bone and metal

just to receive

the release



lack of control

a sickening

satisfaction, then


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Filed under Poetry