her petals
fell upward
into the sky fecund,
spelling energy again.

i'm sitting, here, broken as ****,
looking through Venetian blinds
at a sunset that breaks me
even more.

the hurt
feels
so
*******
good.

denizen of the Internet's darkest corner
surfacing momentarily to spew vitriolic
misogyny before disappearing once more
returning to whatever hell you call home

warmer hearts than mine
might muster the compassion
to show you a kindness
**** like you neither
appreciate nor deserve

but not me
i will not tear you
limb-from-limb
regardless of the
sick fantasies i
treasure in my brain

no
i'll meet you in
this abyss and cut
you to pieces with
a tongue sharper
than any sword
until you fall upon
my words like the
shameful craven and
dishonorable coward
that you are

you fancy yourself
a misanthropist but
you didn't create
the darkness you
merely inherited
it from me

you're a putrescent infant
nursing your enmity and harboring
hatred for yourself above
all else and it's not
difficult to see why

chauvinist pig
slave to a hyper-masculine ego
the rhetoric you spit is
simultaneously solipsistic
self-contradictory and self-defeating
you've backed yourself into a corner
your throat is the open grave in which
i will bury you alive

i only wish there was a devil who might
give you an eternity of the attention
you crave but i'll suffice to be the one to
pull the noose tight and watch with
mirth as you kick and spin and gasp
and shudder and splutter for breath
your flesh goes blue and your eyes
roll back into your skull searching for a
brain turned to mush
riddled with maggots

and on the day that you
lie dormant and friendless
paralyzed on your deathbed
i will be the loneliness
reminding you that you got
just what you deserve

don't **** with my best friend

hope is a hoax
a sick joke that always ends
like a punch in the throat
cage up my guts and
crush the butterflies
departing my vacant stomach

i've grown sick of all the lust
that always crawls over us
invisible cockroaches scurrying
across emaciated flesh
give me the needle the drug
part my skin succumb to sin
addicts trying to kick our habit
desperate for the next fix

whispers and insinuations
an endless simulacrum
an earnest emulation built
on selfish impulses that
never fail to corrode and
corrupt until there's nothing left
of us but shattered shells in
self-made hells begging
for another bump

and while no god presides over
this unending infatuation
i've asked the skies to answer why
i am always second rate
gathering dust while
you **** a hollow husk
of a human being

am i the crux
of true love or
am i just a crutch

After having spoken awhile of the predatory smiles that wake her from the bottom of a cup in porcelain sleep, the polite guests that convinced her that they too be included in the tea games, played by a thousand gold lions that prance upon the wooden clocks in her dreams, ripping them to pieces and having let bled a spill of mechanical works with insane parts, furiously looking for the history in which they will piece themselves back together, I once again fell under the spell of this profession, trained in breaking glass.

you spilled ink onto my heart
oh you left such a terrible mess
the more i try to expel it with each word i write,
the messier it seems to become
i cannot wash you away
you've stained my blood black
i am trying to find the red
so that i can live again
it seems hopeless, your imprint on me,
the permanent ink
as if your hand print lays over my heart
and deep into my soul
claimed me as your own