Tag Archives: temper

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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sour patches

your words drag

filed nails across

a chalkboard, so

astride the music

.

that ebbs and flows

beneath your voice

a cascade of lullaby

when you dare sing

.

but you’ll never need

to be one or the other

terrible temper along

soft childish laughter

.

i so adore you and

your whim, for you are

never more darling

than you have ever been.

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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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The Division

Let me count the ways you kill me;

1.) You carved promises at the notches of my brittle bones, mercilessly enthralling and hypnotising me under the anaesthetic assurance that everything was fine, that I was fine, and that I wouldn’t ever have to destroy myself again; but all the while, you crushed the very foundations beneath my suspended feet and made heaven shatter all around me like an ethereal motion sickness. And as if that wasn’t enough, you set everything on fire and watched this wretched phoenix turn to listless ashes, never to rise again; a demented conflagration.

2.) You promised me for better or for worse, but as I tried to find new names for the shade of red in my lips, you forgot about the obscene sickness that’s violently heaving inside my compromised chest and without so much as a twinge of second chances or point-blank hesitation, you injected every indistinct symptom known and unknown to man, turning my shaky breaths to crystalline lilacs and my selfish ribs to impure glass. I asked for a cure, and instead I received a despicable panacea, a myriad riot of plagues that irreparably devastated my system, ripping me to irreversible shreds. “You can’t get hurt if all you feel is hurt, right?”

3.) I’ve got hands like houses, and you rejected my severed hospitality as you broke down every locked door and deceptive boundary like it was nothing; like I was nothing. I constantly find myself lost in complicated syncopes, as I’m trapped spiraling and crawling back to the same self-sustaining cycles of parabolic grief and hypertensive schizophrenia, predicting premonitions that never came true. This eternal winter freezing over my bloodline is stitched together by a million blizzards and snowstorms conspiring exquisitely at once, but this difficult tantrum of a weather is not a tribulation to you, is it? Your cold temper is intolerable, a thousand suns melding together and detonating convulsively in the empty vacuum of space, and there’s no one else around to hear me scream one last time. I wanted to burn. You took it too far.

4.) Were you even sorry? Did you even feel a single taste of contrition when you watched my starving, pathetic soul grapple for life at the very nave of that decimated altar, asking for the silhouetted universe to fall on my back so that it wouldn’t be my fault, nor yours, that everything got screwed over? Did you see what I’ve done, just so I wouldn’t be what you’ve become? I couldn’t find my way back on the ground, so I swallowed my pride like pried coffin nails for the sake of a more poignant memory to remember; retribution heals what time cannot. Yet now I close my reckless eyes and softly coalesce in sadistic plumes of the miserable discourse you call an intravenous love, and I beg, and I beg. Were you even sorry at all?

5.) You are me, and I am you. I have no one. You are no one. When you lived, I died; and when you died, I along with you. I called it genocide. They called it desperation. For I am me, and you are you. There was no one else. They called it suicide. I call it salvation.

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“Patience Is A Virtue”

Don’t break yourself now

Keep your temper in

And bleed your mouth dry

Trying not to scream

They won’t hear you anyway

And they’ll never listen

Not until they find evidence

Then they’ll lock you up

Sabotaging the hate they all

Once told you to ask for

Crashing the arrogance until

Everything’s fucking stale

So don’t break yourself now

Because even if you do

It’s not like it will even matter

To anyone but yourself.

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the house of sinners

You’ve fallen captive to what you thought would
Save you, what you thought would clean your slate
You’re in the thick of it now and you have swallowed the hook
What’s done is done, we’ll continue on with or without you
Pain must exist in order for healing to survive
Neither one will ever serve their purpose alone…

~*~

underhanded whispers

rotting foundations to the very core

flesh devoured by the ego

and cold blood sold to murder slaves—

black eye gouged for black eye

in this parasitic wasteland;

of a home built on crossbones

and mangled hearsay

swallowing teeth and anger

boiling harsh on explosive veins

devouring the starving bruised hearts

until all that’s left is arcane vitriol.

so tear my body apart to pathetic shreds,

expose the lies in my backbone

and make me believe fervently in

your hypocritical preambles,

distorted tales of abuse,

vile corrupted, asinine whining,

and the conjured-up apparitions at the

tip of your foul leather tongue…

i’ll pass it on to another fool;

taking them as you have taken me for.

because oh, i just adore

your stories of foolhardy orphans

and the secret adoptions that

you slipped in our coffee like poison

and now you have the nerve to grit

the dirty money between

your running mouth and say that

we don’t fucking deserve any of your trust

as you shamelessly go crawling back to your mistress

and weep behind red war paint.

a personal sadistic leverage,

that pathetic carnage of a temper of yours.

watch yourself before you accuse us

and don’t speak with the smoking gun

permanently lodged between your

pointing fingers like a quickly-burning cigarette,

because you’re gonna set yourself on fire.

and we’ll stand back and watch

the hostile flames convict you of arson—

among all of the other crimes

you’ve shamelessly committed against us,

because it’s the most merciful thing

we could ever do to you.

~*~

This is my goodbye, don’t worry
We saw through your trickery
And we’re coming out alive, see you at the end
What was once your life is now lifeless
What was once your life is now your jail cell.

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first act, insanity; next stop, recovery

“I never meant to hurt nobody
I never meant to hurt you, no, no…”

~*~

acrid laughter is ringing in my ears

good-natured, perhaps, to them

but the sound pierces like twisted barbed wires

straight through the caliginous corners

of my teeth, bared like a regurgitated heart

and almost—if not just as—crimson

as the fucked-over severity in my demented head

but sometimes it feels good to simply pretend

that the banter is a little less than risque

and i let my agitation be fooled…what an idiot.

as i’m sorry plays like a stenographic record

etching deeper grooves in the back of their stares

but never playing the right kind of music

am i screaming a typhoon in your clear day parade?

i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i want to cut it out

i want to cut my fingers open to point it out

and take all the sharp-edged blame all for myself.

but my testy temper rides on the flexible bullet

severely mutilating this nascent entertainment

that masqueraders and pantomimists have played

for the melancholic, esoteric, plastic actor

and you insisted on applause and receptivity

despite my initial protests against it all

for i am not your contagious chemistry audience

but i surrender my scab blood to you anyway

and keep clapping on and on until my hands fall apart

like a marionette’s lamenting swan song;

like this borrowed skin that sheds itself as we speak.

their laughter is mutating into vicious sneers

stabbing like blunt edges of a mangled fountain pen

and making me grit my shattered teeth—

your fogged-over eyes interpreting it as a smile

amused, but i’m simply bemused by my endurance.

i’m tired. i’m tired. i’m so fucking tired.

of the teasing testing taking terrors tampering

with my dysfunctional mood, its revolution ever retrograde…

it’s not your fault. did i ruin your sunshine again?

i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry.

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Causal Events

I will be the vein you’d love to sever

From A to Z and from now to never

Akin to quiet postorgasmic drowsy

So sleep it out and don’t feel sorry

.

I’m not supposed to be the violence

Inside your bones, filled with silence

But the blood still leaves out my eyes

Like an enemy camp abandoning allies

.

I would be this crude cantankerous laugh

Forced out of nowhere, both half and half

They said that fools will never say a thing

But it seems, that’s all that they are doing

.

I could not admit to subaltern abandonment

Venom despising in a twisted-green serpent

Burn the bridges that were never even there

Get rid of the people that are caught unaware

.

I am the derelict heart with no utile functions

In frauds and lies and martyr insubordination

Like a quick temper tantrum, a five dollar sea

Swim inside me so you won’t have to be sorry.

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irate

i’m fairly certain

of uncertainties

building parasites

in my infected brain

a little bit crank

that turns it dank

festering and yet

putting a bad strain

i’m bored and i’m

sore to my very

tired core, bleeding

out dumb opinions

the accented words

like spoiled milk curd

making way for crass

and cold sophistication

the breath of crowds

and the noises loud

don’t give me any space

to sigh and think

rippling notions

and forced emotions

like an alacrity of

an underpaid shrink

so i slowly close and

repose, and take an

insipid revival in

one inch of a breath

press nagging voices

out of my deaf ears

before i go and catch

out an earlier death

i’m sickened of the

fire they’re all boiling

under my charred

and overcooked skin

a little bit further

i can’t take it any longer

and my short temper

cuts itself loose again.

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