Frankly, My Dear


I’ve tried so hard to hate you,
But every time I muster a mote of loathing
Or contrive the basest slander against your character,
My tongue ties into knots or I stumble;
And I know that for all my wishing,
I could never bring myself to defame you,
Though it would be so much easier if I could.
You would have me fixate on the profane
To prove you’re worthless
(Maybe you think it would be easier that way),
But my eyes have stripped away the horrors
Your acts of depression, revenge, or apathy have wrought.
That’s not who you are—
I refuse to believe that—
No matter what they tell you;
They’re dead wrong, but they wouldn’t know,
Because those who don’t look beyond flesh
Have no compassion for others.
You’re the kind of person I would die for,
But to be honest I’d much rather live for you,
Stand by your side to help you up when you misstep,
And you could do the same for me.
But since I sit here, deprived of your glory,
I wring my heart like a wet cloth
To squeeze a drip of hatred,
And always come up short.
It’s just that your sins are trivial in light of your grace,
And I couldn’t care less how high they stack;
They won’t matter when we’re dead, anyway.



grain shadow

I crave destruction;
It’s not some romanticized fiction
Or noble venture brimming with sentiment.
Because of everything that’s conspired against me—
Governments, family, a chastised world—
I pine for the end.
Within this sanctuary I have etched
There exists no morality,
Only a rage beget by injustice;
And on this altar of ire
I sacrifice in no one’s name,
Because sacrifice—
The artistic method of suffering—
Needs no purpose beyond its own existence.
With that hideous strength I wield,
Surprising even to myself,
I cast dominion over the puerile
And advance my personal army
Until grass turns to dirt under boot.
Even should there be no nation left to conquer
I will wage war still,
Whether upon myself or the gods above,
To prove my own liberation
From all but bloodlust,
A carnal craving for penance,
An unyielding covet for destruction.

The Unabashed Face of Hatred, Worn by Me

Hell rising

Let me transcribe these words plainly
So that even you can fathom their meaning:
I do not want you in my life;
Every second in my presence is blasphemy,
An insult to my existence,
And every second longer
I feel as though I might tear you to shreds.
Mistake not kind words or pleasant smiles:
I have not forgotten the evil you are
And the pandemonium you have risen
From the depths of hell to terrorize me,
To confine me in a shell of solitude,
Paranoia, and insecurity,
Slave to your whims and malleable,
Reforming myself to every mood,
Waiting for the day when it’s enough for you.
You are despicable, incorrigible,
And your pastimes sickening beyond verbiage,
Toying and prodding just long enough to instill hope
And, with swift rejection,
Tearing it down like buildings against wrecking balls;
But someday soon you’ll realize
If you continue to reject love,
One day love will reject you,
And lying on your carpet,
Cheap and unraveling—the mirror image of your life—
I will be there, not to console you
But to eviscerate you, strangle you,
Leave you open and exposed,
So, for once, you will know how it feels.

Rage and Penance

Shadow lights

I am not ashamed to admit I love you,
That every action was to impress you,
Make you look at me differently,
Dote upon me your affections;
And the truth is—
Regardless of what the prevaricators say—
That I worshiped you unconditionally.
It took one mistake,
One fleeting moment of self-centeredness,
For you to turn your back on me,
To cast me from your presence,
Your life,
Your home,
Exiling me to the cold and dark
Crevices of the universe,
Where you made sure I would bear witness
To all the love you had for me
That now you give to others;
Yet somehow it is I who is profaned!
I have been slandered and demonized
As I am forced to watch you cavort
With those you cherish so much,
Who wound you every day of your existence.
I am not the monster here;
Can you blame me for the acrimony?
You have stolen everything from me
For all my days over a singular mistake,
While your despicable new favorites
Are granted clemency for each of theirs.
Is it a wonder I’m so hateful,
That I lash out
And seek to prove how much better I am
Than your pathetic pets?
By now you have made it clear
That you would do nothing with my devotion
But conflagrate it with your wrath—
Your ungodly rage and penance—
So how dare you accuse me
Of any wrongdoing or evil?
You, who has the adoration of the world
And could never possibly fathom
The sensation of being denied your attention.
It is not out of hatred I do these things,
But out of unrequited love;
And after this wicked eternity,
The fault is no longer with me,
But you alone.



I am a parasite, a disease,
A corruption never meant for your world;
Eons I have traveled,
And light-years across the cosmos,
Seeking what you, in infirm mind
And demarcated myopia, can never assimilate.

I have suffered your invectives millennia quondam,
Yet my petitions were never heard;
Ever a calamity I am—
Albeit effulgent and heralding salvation—
And so cannot aspire toward acceptance,
Nor invoke compassion or sentiment.

Is it so profane to be
Something disparate, a creation misconceived?
Tell me, you of veneration,
Am I the portrait of beauty as a prisoner,
So alien to your custom,
Or do I instill fear, a mirror of your turpitude?

I have suffered this denunciation ad infinitum,
And been the object of scorn for my ambition;
I admit, like you—so foul and baseless—
I have my limits, and they’re shattered with iniquity,
And if your approval I cannot have,
Your world, cold and dead, I shall lay to ruin.


Female dark angel

I am hatred incarnate.

Blood-soaked sins of my past
Plaster red this acrylic painting
Of vivacious colors matching
What I saw in those vibrant eyes.

No scent,
No glimpse,
No memory
Can every deliquesce from my perception.

This, like the paraplegic’s legs
Or the seeress’s vision of war,
Is my unholy curse, wrought by imprudence:
Negligence toward my better judgment
And a rapacious desire to elevate from my caste.

It is a railroad of mistakes that have left me jaded—
Barreling down on a locomotive,
Only to realize the tracks have been laid
And I revolve in an infernal circle
Around the crux.

Around you.

And though I abhor the path I am on,
I cannot step off, lest I face the truth:
My soul yearns, not for forgiveness
But to forgive.

To yield is to pardon you,
To proffer up what you never had the heart to request
Because, in truth, you do not need it;
You do not require my absolution to subsist
Or carry on an empyreal life,

And despite my laments, the hatred I have assumed,
I have not the heart to forgive;
And so I do not fear death,
For I am already in hell.

Money Eyes

Peer at me with money eyes.
Camaraderie is a convincing disguise,
But the underscoring truth belies
The intentions of your grotesque reprise.

Would a little sincerity kill you, darling?
Humor me until I bend or break;
Whittle away at me with affection,
And spear my heart with your insufferable gaze.
Feel my legs quiver, enfeebled
Against the strength of your weakness.
Speak the pleas I yearn to hear;
Now watch as I collapse and cave.

Have you gotten all you wished for?
Will my existence earn a passing thought
In days to come, when I’m long gone?
Will I have served my purpose to you,
Offering all value that can be measured?
Will you have satiated your demented version of friendship?
Or will you stare into the mirror reflecting the past,
Conscious of the wretch you are?