I hate poems written like this Strikes me as obscene cowardice To explore, and bore, whilst finding The core of your flaws Of course, the source, is coarse Hoarse, distraught discourse unfiltered Like stale cigarettes found in The hold-all from your last excursion An attempted escape from this, all this Think about the hits and know you’ll miss Think about the shit and know it’s kiss Filth marked, stained skin A waste of a face, the taste of disgrace So you face the waste, unpack your sins The lotus blossoms, lice riddled and rotten Dive inside and at the bottom? Nothing. Our sins are all justified, there’s the rub Your feelings fair, that’s somehow not enough It would help if it were something, anything at all What makes it worse is there’s nothing, no call For action, you gall at the reaction, demand Satisfaction. Long for righteous fury, a heart ablaze A fire in your belly to burn through the haze This fog of war, this pig of a whore Give me endless days of fighting this war And as I lay dying my heart will crave more More gristle, more gore for the sword No settled scores, I want the whole board Worth the remorse of forever debauched But that wish will never come true, It begins the cycle fresh, anew No! What I crave (on occasion) Is my complete annihilation Dive deep into that nothing Void my warranty, end the suffering 12/02/[[2024]] #sadness #anger