Pretty Poems Aren't Pleasant

I’m tired of hearing about love lost and bleeding hearts,

Tired of their rhymes pertaining to paisleys and daisies.

Stop the putrid pitter patter of pulchritude and

Too vague sentiments to that one sultry seeker

That passed you by, no one gets it but her anyhow.

I want stories of sinners with an atrocious heroin addiction

Begging for quarters and salvation. I want portraits of heroic

Men who’ve had the world beat them down, brutally.

Or the sound of the loving mother

Who fed her beautiful baby the butcher knife.

Give me the dark that eats the light.

Pull back your chain mail skin and show me your

Black heathen heart, where the only hope is that

It will beat just one more time. I don’t want

Lines of fine or pictures of perfect, I want

Dissonance Agony Defeat Anger Destruction

Deliverance.

Show me the loathsome slashes on your wrist and

The bleeding blade nestled in your broken back.

Something so disgusting you can't keep it hidden.
I beg you

 Young poet, put pen to paper and write in black ink.

On dark parchment cover the white.

Show me your grime, your lie, your betrayal

Give me your insidious insides…