It seemed time to lump a few more pieces of bitter and violent verse together. This may very much not be your thing, but you’ll have to accept it for what it is: work therapy. Without this tiny release into the land of Shankanalia I would almost certainly be taking bits off people and posting them to their parents. This keeps me calm and friendly. It’s possible I should drink less coffee. Ho hum. If you do like them, why not follow @shankanalia on Twitter and receive anger directly. Won’t that be fun. I kind of see them as both poems and potentially songs. I usually get a stolen jingle in my head when I’m jotting them down. Plus I’ve never really grasped the idea of poetry that doesn’t rhyme so I do consider them short songs really. If you want to sing them out loud, well I’d be thrilled and only slightly weirded out.
We’re All the Same Inside
I opened you
To look inside
What a surprise
To find you died
I Can Help You
Do you have GPS on your phone?
Could you give to me your location?
Missile targetting system programmed…
Help Me to Help You
Knife to your throat
Type in the letters
I read to you
What did you type?
Those aren’t the letters
Let’s try again
Knife to your first-born
There’s something I used to whisper in your ear
To bring you pain and oddly cheer
Now when you wake up full of weeping
You know why.
Theory of Mind
Instructions to your mind
Re-routed through you arse
Your indicators’re in easy reach
I’ll use my knife to learn and teach
That you don’t use ’em
Indicates to me
You’re a one tonne twat
I Value your opinion
SHOUT you fuckers
SCREAM you wankers
BELLOW your inanities
Bloody my mind with your volumised vacuity
Your thoughts are worth more than mine
My cranium implodes with the noise of your voice
Your senseless prattle erodes me
Your spinal deformity makes you
Your skeletal flexibility
Hunchy invisible concave-spine gal