deepundergroundpoetry.com
There’s power in the fuck off
…not just the casual f-grenade
but the atomic fuck-all-the-way-off
until you reach the furthest point,
dream the impossible dream
and fuck off a bit further
like when my Mother called tonight
as she reeled off a bonfire of anxiety
about my Aunt and all her endless shit,
how they’re staying with her this weekend
and I wonder if all the victims
of Jeffrey Dahmer
would happily sit down
with the frantically chipped china
and drink terrorised tea in a lounge
with the Lord of psycho drama
of course they fucking wouldn’t—
it gets to a point
where DNA becomes irrelevant
and you need to accept people
for the batshit bloodsucking
mood hoovers that they are
and I am so sick of family
being the stick in which
we beat ourselves with
the salt we pour
in our open fucking wounds…
listen up
my fellow little dumpster fires
there is such power in the fuck off—
not just the casual f-grenade
but the cataclysmic I hope your flaps
knot internally with your tongue
so you can play a banjo ditty
about deliverance and all its woes
on a beat up paint-peeling porch
in the key of B-sharp
and fucking selfish
to the tune of hinges
on slamming doors
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