Unhappiness grows within me,
deep inside until, in the end
it becomes mine.

Unfurling through my being,
it ingrains itself deep into the bone
and the still lips of my mouth.

My face unlined, unsmiling
it hollows out the bore
within the centre of my chest:
leaving only emptiness.

But it is not nothing,
for the blackhole is the prelude to an
exploding star.

Anger turned inward
by powder-pegs of savoury bitterness
and the elegant fabric of contempt stretched thin
rips inside out into the red light
of vital defiance.

I taste it on my tongue
and my faceless mask twists
into a quirk of disdain
and then a tight, tight grin.
And I laugh.

The sound is high and cold, encompassing,
and all inclusive.
For the wound-womb of my soul,
shaped by my unhappiness,
is filled again
with the culmination of all these things.

With bloody glee.

With fire.

With power.

It is perfect symmetry
this force that I use,
that uses me,
that I let use me,
to smash the faces of cowardice,
and treachery, of hypocrisy
and promises never made.
And I enjoy their pain.

Especially my own.

Each blow I make is hard
and potent beyond endurance.
It strains and snaps a part of me,
burning edges of myself away,
as I dance.

But I do not care as I am too caught
in the moment to feel the pain
save for how it adds nuance
to the beauty of my rage.

The shadow of me quickly
becomes the dancer of obliteration.

Then all that is left is destruction:
immune to appearance, to sentiment, to reason,
to responsibility, and to conscience.
And I laugh, and laugh, and laugh
gloriously: because it is good …

Because it is freedom.

My hatred is pure,
purging and scouring fire
leaving no mistakes, no good memories,
nothing behind as it starts from
Before: from Ground Zero.

And the small part that wants
someone to stop me only adds
to the meaning of what I do.
Because finally,
when the world matches the darkness
inside of me,
and hatred finally dies,
perhaps then all that will be left
to fill it is love
and compassion.

If not from me,
then from someone better.

Exhaustion takes me:
and the spot made from my unhappiness
lets me come into itself,
as I curl into the warmth of its comforting shadows.

5 thoughts on “Berserker

  1. Your words and their veracity is captivating. Even the way you calculate your spacing, draws me in.

    On a side note, I caught a glimpse of H.P. Lovecraft in your bio. I was gifted the book “the Best of H.P. Lovecraft” by a friend. Love it, though I can no longer reread it since I live alone and my imagination is overwhelming terrifying.

    1. Thank you, Britt. 🙂 One of the differences that I have reading poetry as opposed to prose is generally how lines and stanzas are positioned. They are very different from sentences and narrative. It’s a lot more compact. I’m glad you liked this one. It has been a while since I have written poetry in this way.

      And you love Lovecraft. 🙂 I know that you might want to avoid nightmares, but what were your favourite stories from that collection? I don’t known that one, but I own at least two other collections and I read one from the library with his earlier work. I’ve actually been meaning to write some Lovecraftian short stories. In fact, I wrote something of a parody for Mythaxis Magazine.

      It isn’t too scary and you can look at here if you are interested. It even refers to a poetic form. 😉

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