A hate poem

hear out from satan's favourite child

when the world’s all busy pirouetting and making a bow to the sun. 

hear from the just born, from all the lust born

we are four steps away from the death of this season.

i'm sorting pomegranate seeds in order of decay. the scarlet ones scream the most as your maroon coated fingernails sink into my flesh. you say i bleed like a pomegranate, stabbed right through the heart and i blame my rotting on you. you are every sour word turned bitter into my mouth, raised by a thousand wounds.

there goes another fleeting year with canine bites, and i feel ravenous, like black glitters exposed to crimson stained snow. i let my homeless grief and my heartless ribs go feral. they scream at the loudest cacophony and drench my skull in concentrated aqua regia.

hear out from death's grief child.

to the sky, to the ocean, to the dirt ridden roots that go deep under my parents house — to hell with you. you toss me like a rage filled snow globe, raining fury that never escaped my hometown.

i hate you. i hate you all. i hated you the first time, and i hate you for the millionth time. you burned two cities to ashes and painted the bricks in rosy pink & liquid luck.