The Bride Even the Devil Divorced


There is nothing sexy about your rage—
The infernal vengeance
You would reap upon those who have wronged you,
Borne you into this world,
Or stood in your presence
Instead of kneeling before your majesty;
So excuse me if I recuse myself
From your infallible presence
Or shiver when your skin meets mine.
I do not require your pardon
And do not crave your presence,
Radiating arrogance with each step,
Every flinch, every syllable spoken,
Causing me to retch my heart out
Whenever I have to inhale your noxious aura.
Your touch is like a snake bite,
The venom entering my bloodstream like a virus
And working its way to my heart;
Even worse when you try to fuck me—
The moments where I’d sooner die,
Except I would die in your arms,
And that is a fate worse than hell.



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.

Raging Texan


You are a raging alcoholic,
A bleeding masochist
Delighting in the debauchery
You wade in to ignite your self-loathing
And justify the stoicism that defines your life.
You are the type of person,
So entrenched in hopelessness
That you would excuse a domestic abuser,
Because co-dependence outweighs your well-being,
Despite your assertions to the contrary.
And I, fatigued by observation,
Resort to this libelous tirade
For no other reason than to obtain a mote of agency
Among the shipwreck caused by your storm;
And should this offer offense,
I hope you file suit
If only to come face-to-face with the realization
That your self-degradation is not internal,
That your immolation is a holocaust
Burning those around you.
You tried your damnedest
To send me spiraling,
But you didn’t even have to lift a finger;
Without effort, you conceive of machinations
So twisted and deranged no other could birth them,
And plummet me into ruin
In some sick imposition of penance.
You have accepted your birthright to catastrophe,
Wielding your inheritance as a shield
To protect yourself from those
Who would sever the binding on your wings
And see you take flight to the heavens above,
Proving yourself a god among the paltry.
You have withered,
Dragging those unfortunate enough
To be caught in your grasp with you
And suffocating them in the smoke,
Drowning them in the liquid,
Surrounding them with the profane and degenerate,
Until all these ugly truths
Morph into something else entirely
And you can vindicate your rage in ubiquity.

No Fury


Does it please you to see me writhe?
I see the jubilation in your eyes
As your hand, dominant and possessive,
Comes crashing down on my soul,
Laying waste to my sanity
And usurping my will
To do anything but drop to my knees,
Begging you for a moment of attention.
That smile, punishing and misogynistic,
Envelops my self-esteem and constricts
Until I’m left on the floor weeping;
But you haven’t seen my rage—
Not really.
Yes, you may have seen wild flailings
And heard words caustic and abusive,
But you’ve never seen the demon
Lying within me, dormant until now.
By the god of hell, you will,
And on that day
Evisceration would be a blessing
Compared to the retribution
I will reap upon your body,
Your mind,
Your rotten corpse of a soul.
Every second of suffering
Will be wrought upon you sevenfold
Like he who would slay Cain,
Just as you tried to slay me;
But you failed, and I have risen\
From the ashes of mistake and mistrust
With resuscitated fury:
My weapon, not for some holy cause,
But to exact my revenge on you
And cast your soul
To the seventh circle of hell,
Where the demons will feast
And then discard what remains of you,
Like the disgrace of mankind you are.


Elektra opera

One of these days
I’m going to make you beg—
First for your life,
Until you accept┬áit won’t be spared—
Then for death,
Once you realize┬áit won’t come quickly.
It has nothing to do with justice,
Only a desire for revenge,
And to preserve the lives
Of the ones I cherish.
I will relish in your throes,
Hum along to your screams
As the blood drains from orifices
The human body should never possess;
And when your eyes roll back
And your body goes limp,
I will only feel regret
That I could not protract
Your final moments of anguish any longer,
But I will pat myself on the back
Because you won’t cause any more harm,
Not to the rest of the world—
Which I couldn’t care less about—
But to the ones I cherish.

They tell me I’m a good man,
But this, I think,
Provides evidence to the contrary.

The Egos That Abort Our Miracles Before They’re Conceived

Smoke hand

You are my hollow,
My nightmare;
The perpetual fuck-up,
Threatening with each misstep
To rip apart the firmament
Partitioning my reason from devastation,
So that I will spiral into self-destruction,
Providing you the excuse you need
To vindicate your poor decisions,
Chosen not from peer pressure,
But simply because you’re weak.
Fear grips you, asphyxiating your mind,
Triggering emotions too powerful to stifle,
So you give yourself to carnality,
Yielding to base desires to escape.
You smash every mirror
In your toxic corridors
So you’ll never have to face yourself
And the offenses that have transformed you
Into this strung-out ascetic,
Prescribing ineffectual punishment to atone;
And the rage—
This rage has grown beyond you,
Parasitic and soul-sucking,
And has deformed my psyche,
Inducing fits of insufferable self-deprecation.
It’s a chain reaction,
One you are aware of but are content to ignore
As long as you can numb your pain
And forget what you’ve caused to others;
But god as my witness,
I will not succumb to this blackness,
Dragged down by envy and despair.
You have become hollow,
And I will not be your victim,
And when at last you realize your folly—
Because no one escapes life—
I promise you I will not be there.
he light beckons, and with or without you
I will answer,
And leave you in the dark, if I must.

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.


Weak and powerless

Okay, so I haven’t cast off these chains yet—
Have not removed this burden—
But it’s hard to exhume a body buried so deep
And exorcise the soul that lays dormant within;
Yet this is the challenge,
The onus I have undertaken
To make reparations for my transgressions
And return to form that which I distorted
With selfish ambition and misplaced chivalry.
So easy it is to wallow in this
And allow self-pity to transmute into rage;
It is only then that I feel I could do anything—
Anything except sway your will—
Even though that is when I am at my most powerless.
In the wake of this nuclear decimation,
I am perennially pained by your decision,
Your silence,
Though I cannot say I blame you;
But I must urge you never again to tempt me
Or you will bear witness to me at my most powerless,
And I will make sure that blood stains your hands.

Your Impotent Fury

Vampire Rage

I do not appreciate this false privilege
You have deftly imparted upon me—
The way you use me as an intermediary
Through which to execute your impotent fury;
It lacerates me, leaving me feral and distant.
Don’t you get that I’m human, too,
And not just a pawn in petty games?
As much as I want to play the healer,
Dressing your wounds and mending your scars,
Piecing together the fragile remnants of your psyche,
I have neither the strength nor position to do so;
So I have only words, which fall far short
Of anything that could possibly assuage your suffering.
I am, in effect, rendered inert and powerless
To do anything that could in any way aid you,
Even if you were to plead for my help;
And though your conscience belies such rationale,
I would expect you of all people to understand that.