In hues of crimson, scarlet hazy, the ire will rise like a phoenix
wounded
Put your forgiveness on ice, like leftovers; the soft squelch of the
seal of the freezer -
Close it up and forget about it; like a Tupperware coffin you’ll
reserve the hate
For another meal; at -2 degrees; suspended
It crystalizes to a chilling dust as the frost would form on a bag of
peas, young;
But hardened into shrivelled pebbles of gall, inedible.
Such is the feast to serve upon yourself– indelible
You will force the lumps down vehemently, your gullet gaping with a
wound
Of your own eviscerating fury – so young,
So advanced; an engine in need of antifreeze
So the boil and cold of it might be suspended
How prehistoric are the stalactites of your own self-hatred?
Every single frozen inch of you a measurement to hate:
Unforgiveable nerves sting with the incredible
Petrification; self-condemnation is a bitch suspended
High above the mouldy rub of an ancient wound
A long, discoloured, loping frieze
Around the amygdala and back again – race you there. Oh, to be young!
Those youths who sauté layers without repentance - the blind young
Whose eyes don’t feel the sharp and pungent bite - so unknowing of
themselves to hate
Whilst I’ve long had my heart in the freezer
Cushioned by the sharp and lumpy and inedible
Deficiencies – of what I did, and who I am and what I am yet to do;
that is my wound:
The grouse over deeds as yet suspended
They crawl the halls of neurons not yet electrified. But wait for it!
There! The world upended
Like I’ve grabbed for the bag with a hole in it; the young
Peas, green and brittle and wounded
Bouncing on the linoleum, cascades of self-loathing tapping with their
pure hate hate hate
Inedible.
But I will make myself eat it, every mouthful. Because fuck you and I
said so. And the freeze-
Dried pits of despair that melt and weep and sluice between my toes, the freezer
Breaks. Relief is suspended
Reversing; pulsing, pulsating, protracting; young
But ancient – a dread so newly recognised. Indelible
A veritable stew of seething hate
Reaches boiling point on the floor; a never ending wound.
Would that I could suspend; a hatred so young and primitive; knowledge
of deeds as small as the stones in a freezer-bag of peas; a wounded fucking
cunt. Inedible. Indelible. Incredible pain.
