I am frequently filled with emotions I don’t know what to do with. Counselling helped somewhat, sorting out the feelings that are relevant and appropriate versus those that arise from unknown causes and towards unknown antagonists. I’m pretty sure why I end up writing angry poetry though – I just want to be left alone to get on with things. If I want people’s input I’ll go out and find it, enjoy a cheerful babble-filled conversation with those who I enjoy having such conversations with.
Spare me the banalities of forced customer service culture and the imagined altruism other foist upon us. At least try to get things right, that’s almost all I ask. Just try, maybe even succeed. You never know, with a tiny bit of effort you won’t even need me – imagine how awesome and empowering that could be!
Follow @shankanalia on Twitter for irregular poetic updates.
Shankling – Combustible Verse of Hatred
Love It or Hate It I Hate You
I wanna see your eyes inflate
As I bellow loathing in your ear
Till they pop
Like runny jam-bags
To spread on toast
Tastes of pain;
The Eye of The Beholdened
Oh you fucking moron twat
What do you think you’re looking at?
I can’t bear to hear you sigh
I want to punch you in the eye.
Oh you fucking..
Proactive Solution Identification
Today’s the day that I strangle your baby
Travelled back in time,
Spelunked into your momma womb,
To lasso you with your own belly rope.
Every word from your mouth
Is ear-bleeding poisonous crap,
Like a serpent pissing itself through its teeth.
Your worthless husk,
Dry in my path.
(Good) Customer Service
Hi, thanks for calling
(Hope you die)
How can I help…
You to kill yourself?
Mmm, that sounds like a problem.
I don’t care, just fuck off.
You’re a Chatty Sort
Fucking shaft-twazzling shit-flute,
Slide your burning mind-fucker
Into your own cranium:
Spare me your noisy verbo-spunking.
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