Tag Archives: anger

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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aggressive

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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Transmogrify

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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Stranded

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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[d]anger

a kettle

in my temples

shrieking—

building up

into violence

.

blood is

scalding me

running down

elbows and

bedsheets

.

an urge

to shatter

bone and metal

just to receive

the release

.

disjointed

lack of control

a sickening

satisfaction, then

didappointment

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EXCUSE MY TANTRUM.

I hate seeing red.

It’s a torturously slow and succinct boil, the unpleasant sensation creeping up my spine. It never extravagantly drags me away in a spontaneous giant tidal wave; instead, it simply latches its needlelike claws underneath my heart like a phantom itch and allows the suppressed pressure to build up, lead me on, and choke me down. Bit by bit by bit.

Not too much. But just enough.

Until enough is enough.

And when my temples are visibly throbbing, my teeth start to gnash and grind against my own accord, and my bloated veins feel like they’re about to erupt, well, that’s when my frail inhibitions completely give way beneath my feet and I find myself submerged under scalding anger; haplessly clamouring against the troubled dilemma in my warring brain and desperately seeking to bruise some bodies and open some scars without a second thought. No holds barred.

Please. Just this once.

Maybe for a moment, I want to hurt people. Maybe for a moment, I want to shatter my own knuckles just for that temporary thrill, just before the imminent pain sets in and I end up wildly writhing on the floor with regret, with guilt, with disbelief. And maybe I want to do it all over again and draw more blood and break a few more bones and lose a lot more brain cells until my concussed head finally grows completely numb to empathy. It’s not that I do it because I necessarily enjoy and bask in the feeling of pain—giving or receiving per se—like some psychopathic, sadistic cunt or whatnot, but somehow it just gives me something to do. It viciously takes my mind off everything else. It’s a fucked-up distraction with the worst possible kind of pyrrhic payoff.

I don’t really seem like the violent type. And I never fully am, honestly. Thank the stars, I still have my ever-prevailing anxiety and whatever’s left of my logical rationality and self-preservation to keep me from going mad postal and terrorising anyone who ever so much as slightly crosses me—from irksome strangers who breathed in my general direction, to the very ones that I love. I’ve never really physically fought anyone, I reckon. Not outside of the usual sibling experience and playful friendship bickering, that is. Even if I’m highly tempted to do so many times over already. But for what it’s worth, I do always seem to find myself interlocked in some manipulative form of mind games when the going gets tough with many people I closely encounter, clashing horns and goring down the other’s sanity until the dust clears and only remnants of cold flesh and unfulfilled promises are left on the ground. But one overdramatic mental hangup at a time, so I suppose that’s a story for another day.

Anyway, missing track record for multiple counts of battery and assault or not, I still feel like I’m a foolhardy danger all the same. And yeah, fuck it, whatever, I know that sounds cringey and like I’m trying to come across as “edgy” and “badass”, but the unfortunate truth of the matter is that this impatience and obstinately short temper is an absolutely shitty thing to have and by god, does it have the eager penchant to make me feel like I’m such a terrible person. Hell, I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to hurt and be hurt just because I can’t man up enough to control my wild impulses. We certainly don’t need any more overaggressive dickheads to further ruin life for us, and I don’t want to add to that problem any more than I already have.

There are the rarest times where I stupidly let my guard down and start to somehow think that hey, I’m not quite all that bad and that I might be alright, but then some crazy shit like this goes down and gets way out hand and it mockingly reminds me of all my pathetic issues and just how truly messed beyond repair I am, and why I should try to stay away from people and keep to myself instead.

I don’t know. Maybe I was really built to end up alone for a good reason. And if that’s the case, then no hard feelings because I suppose it’s all for the best. I just hope that soon, this stubborn red will be drying off to a duller brown so I could finally wash it off my aching hands.

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Hierarchical Absolution

Just get me out of this damned place

Where the thieves and parasites all replace

The sanity and morals’ common sense

And jesters jeer at their own complacence

.

Where money doesn’t simply talk, but instead

It fucks with pleasant tongues and leaves them dead

And the messy viscera of every carved-out pawn

Is strewn to hide the sheer filth of pride overgrown

.

Expected to stand up and expected to bleed

Displayed high on the shelves like a trophy kid

Make them all happy, at the cost of your own

Suck up the complaints right down to the bone

.

And I just can’t run away from this cultural poison

Finding heaven in suicide and hell right back home

Please get me out before the familiar slaves drag me back

To a place where I’ll be forced to toil until I self-destruct.

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mad now, like i was before

it’s in my head

cracking like gold

beaten-down

submissive lie

increase tenfold

not mine, not mine

self-respect the

problem i lack

the saccharine

you quietly have but

please not pleased

did you find out

can i get a place?

probably not

it’s too good for me

truth spelling out

a kind of agony that

i don’t enjoy but

i guess we can see

the things that i said

it will never be me

i’d rather be you

you’d rather be dead

so fucked-up and sold

you’re in my head

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Butcher With The Bad Blood

He will remain a walking corpse
His legs will move forward
Addictions itch at his throat
But only to crave more of the blood
He seeks, the man only thirsts…

~*~

Rapid-fire anger management and profanities screaming

You hold your own shredded throat by the unlocked trigger

And clutch tight, like the desperate straws you’re grasping

Beating dead, fucked over by your own sovereign banter

.

Relinquish the power, decorated in track marks and golden medals

But it could only last so long before synthetic monuments crumble

And you find your own damned children splattered all over the walls

Covered in a rain of glass and guilt, begging for some salvation to call

.

Viciously, all the bloated carnage starts reeling away from your reality

Disrupted by the way your faked defensive cries are still failing humanity

No empathy could ever understand the infection burning out your brain

You started with blind rage and opened up hell, but only mangled eyes remain.

~*~

Buried, his tomb will breathe
His hands will rise
From his shallow grave
Begging only for sleep
Dear father, I’ll be waiting
Saved you a seat in hell…

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