Phishing in the River of Hate. (Ode to Anger)

Posted: July 16, 2011 in Adult imagery, Poem, Poetry, Psychology
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

‘Phishing in the River of Hate’

(Ode to Anger)

Ripped-off and Spat-out. Anger like a physical black shard of ice I’m carrying around with me, waiting to stick into the first person who pisses me off. A big black ball of fury bouncing in my hand, kinetic, ready to be hurled with the vicious speed of a cobra strike.

No delicate thoughts here, no poetry, no light and frothy cappuccino words to soothe the middle-class self-absorbed. No poignant phrases soft as butterfly wings flapping on your eyelids, dreamy vanilla swirls. No, no, no, none of that today. Today is a dream demon, a night terror stalking the blood-stained ceramic tiles of a Victorian asylum. Today is a dirty sodden jackboot stamping through your bed-linen and smashing your glass ornaments while you cower in the corner saying your prayers.

I feel the incredible strength of dark purpose that comes with anger. A hot salty poison stinging its way up from my bile gland spreading like a rotting cancer through each vein and capillary, shooting through the arteries as sewer water through a storm drain, making me impossibly powerful and heavy. Such is my rage that the ground cracks beneath my feet under the weight of this dark energy, my own centre of gravity drawing me to the magnetic and molten centre of the earth, the heat of my anger greater than the core and boiling magma.

I stride over a city desert of whining skulls splintering them to dust with each crashing footstep. I could uproot trees with my bare fists, chew through the metal suspension cables of London Bridge with my razor teeth and roar with an awesome rage as they crash into the grey water, smashing the car windscreens and shipping below.

Why this black pus oozing up like oil through my every fucking pore?

Ripped off, Phished, empty bank account, cleaned out, robbed. From shining path to warpath with one click of the mouse, whilst somewhere out in cyberspace there is mocking laughter maintaining the maelstrom, the fire-storm feeding itself inside me.

Thieving cunts. I will post my anger to them, sealing it in an envelope with pretty pink bow. I will stuff in some broken glass dipped in AIDS for you to slice up your greedy fingers on, and the bubonic head of a dead rat to spread disease just as you have caused me my dis-ease. I will curse their children with leprosy and wish failure and misfortune upon all their hopeful dreams, from today until the end of time. First Class postage: the sooner it arrives the better. I will spit my hate into their eyes and laugh as their eyeballs melt like candle-wax in the unstoppable fire of my anger.

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