Good riddance!*

Scream something in the privacy
of your mind and the body
might reject it. Gagging on the
thought, false and fumbling
but raw nonetheless.

I could only think of ugly words
for it, haggard, maybe, wasting, rot,
so I changed my tune to angry.
Sad makes us pale and sick,
but furious is fetching.

Bitter taste on the tongue, don't flatter
yourself. You weren't the one who
taught me, "they'll never say it back."
I had a lifetime of prayer for that.
You didn't make me this way; you
just stepped on the landmine.

Mangled and mine.
Tell death how you like it and
maybe you can get down on all fours,
pretend it was me that did you *****,
pretend it was me with a noose in my hand.

The way it itches inside, the
cacophony of it all, the utter music
of the moment in screeches.
It is anything but romantic.
It is something I broke my arms
to reach.

Just underneath the surface,
something dark and impatient.
It's always been there, sharp and
rubbed the wrong way, cursing and
simmering. Sometimes I think
you know exactly what you're doing.