Today I am angry,

writing poems wishing the death of the president

- mine, although I did not vote for the bastard

with a first name derived from the bible -

and ridiculing members & voters of his bourgeois party;

it's all about class, of reading

about a doctoral thesis, envy,

hate and all myriad repressed moments

when I was nice and polite to those

arrogant, snobbish arseholes

thinking that I would make it,

that it would be worth of all

the grovelling and turning the other cheek.

I didn't, it was all for nothing,

and now, on this fine spring evening,

I want to rip all of them into pieces,

appendages falling

into pools of the brightest red.

28.04.2013