PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I put my mother through pain
'Cause I’m a cunt a cunt a cunt a cunt a cunt,
I lower myself in shame
'Cause I’m a cunt a cunt a cunt a cunt a cunt,
I seek to pickle my brain
'Cause Im a cunt a cunt a cunt a cunt a cunt
I need to forget my name
'Cause Im a cunt a cunt a cunt a cunt a cunt.

“My pain is four times as great as yours, so why are you hurting me??”
Because I reject your pain.
I hate your pain.
Your pain infected me,
And became my pain.
And my pain,
My pain,
My precious, precious, pain.
Is really all I have.
That and the escape coin.
Flip it;
Heads you succeed,
Create,
Critique,
Inspire;
Tails you indulge,
Glut,
And edge along life’s narrow corridors.

The fact that you tried to quantify it, implies you’re trying to win,
Bitch,
So you can fuck off.
Less than a year to go...
Hopefully I won’t have to come back here.

I want to hurt other people.
I enjoy it.
I the hurt look on their faces;
The “how could you?”
I enjoy it.
I hate other people,
Their content lives and tenement flats,
Easy cocksure self-reassurance.
Content cunts.
I’m too fucked up to live with these cunts,
Even though I am a cunt.
I tried. Believe you me I tried.
But there is no beautiful poem inside this scarred tissue
(Oh, my face, why those scars there? Rub off, rub off)
Just an uncomprehending gibbon,
Rattling his bars.
Rattling,
Gaining,
Always failing.
Going forwards and sliding down.