Anon 6d

I don't see your God
smoke and mirrors be damned
don't want your faith
thoughts relentless like the punch of fate 
if you think I will give up
hell fuckin no,
didn't rise from devil's den to slip-up

you put me in a cage,
I'm animal 
raging subliminal 
spewing venom lyrical
don't mistake my kindness
for my fuckin weakness
I can be the nightmare you hush
my blood thrilled to the lash
words aren't my only weapon
a monster, anytime I can summon

nothing exists to shift my focus
without remorse throw you under the bus
so let me out,
let me out
cock my fists for another bout
Blood sweat tears
rage is the mother of my fears
my words spewing worlds of hurt
chew, spit you out into the dirt

could let you into my fears, my terror
show you the man in the mirror
but you'd have to be my equal
not a recycled fuckin sequel
judge my flaws, forget I'm human
your standards are just an illusion

you put me in a cage,
I'm animal 
raging subliminal 
spewing venom lyrical.

Written years ago. Simplified.  Self indulgent and self reflective. Semi lyrical/rap. I chalk it down to the folly of 'youth'.
Anon Dec 5

I had the ego of a demi-god once, an asshole
with the proverbial chip on my shoulder
I wrote of dark pain, stories morbid
as if I was the only one who understood.
then came a humbling, in guise of a poet from Sudan
in a classroom full of over enthusiastic writers
he sat quiet, chain smoking cheap cigarettes
carrying the pride of hell and shadows
in eyes that cut like a warrior's blade
then came his words, in Arabic and English
then came his words.
"I like how you write," he said
"but what the fuck do you know of pain?
desperation of a 10 year who hasn't eaten for days
fear of a father whose child is marked for death in the womb
terror of a child with a gun ordered to kill
a mother's fear of that a knock on her door
scars of abuse never to heal on your sister,
what the fuck do you know?"
as my ego was doing a free fall, he went on,
"but there are horrors I've not been through, I cannot understand those
there is a pain only you'll understand
it's time you stopped, being fucking apologetic
and write of this world as your damaged eyes see it
yours is to question, for who can see flaws better than the flawed?"

today the ego is just as inflated, and the chip firm on my shoulders
but ever since, I'm left with a question
that answers itself
what the fuck do I know?
of pain and suffering except my own
what the fuck do I know.


Slightly edited.
Anon Nov 30

i draw breath in shadows,
dark alleys and dim-lit corners
in these cheerless spaces, my eyes
illumine with life
here pain is god, blood and ink
when an eclipse taints the sun
i am the savage
the savage is I.


Anon Nov 25

all I am is an errant weave, in the fabric of the cosmos
I've wandered in this labyrinth unknown
my absolution not in the answers I've gleaned
but the questions I've posed into illusions,

and sauntering amongst shadows
that dwell in the most beguiling of dark nights
my qulams float between cannibalistic stars
afterthoughts of a careless reverie
when perpetuity of time no longer an enigma
the ingress of death is without morbid allure
and life is but a lark barren of merry laughter

I stand in submission
wave upon wave of cataclysmic kismet
lapping amaranthine on my weary feet
into expanse of blackness that is creation,

a pilgrim lost in infinite celestial possibilities
irrevocably entwined with wolf-spirits
life's stardust slipping between my fists
I am, the question I ask
in the Book of Existence, why write a story


Circa 2014.
Anon Nov 21

I dip my fingers in hell-born coal
and smear black,
on a sanguine dawn.
for I revel in nights
at times adorned, by a pock-marked moon
my beautiful lies in the scarred

and in lightless oblivion, I sit
among shadows cast by a picayune moon
and I become the sum,

of denied psychopathic impulses
shattered edges of a narcissistic reflection
a searing notion,
that I by design was born to annihilate

I smear black,
on everything.  


Written a few years ago is all I can remember.
Anon Nov 19

if you hear my screams, walk away
it is pregnant with remembrance of hatred
nothing graceful survives its birth
no amount of pain quenching its appetite
demanding violence upon self and others,
it reverberates through quiet of night
seeking a black that blots out the sun.

© Anon

Anon Nov 16

I lay awake with a cigarette, waiting
to hear the sound of an ember falling
on my skin
a reminder that pain is truth.
I blow smoke rings, until
the perfect one escapes my lips
a hole in pictures of my memories.

for long, the angry-red glow of a cigarette
has been the only light in dark rooms
where mad voices compete, like desperate orphans
for my undivided recognition, and I

in the delerict language of a confession
whisper my clandestine prayer
into the warm breeze that creeps in
from an open window.  


2014 or thereabouts
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