There is a haunted house where something innocuous, like a painting or a shoe, is moved every day. And there is the sound of a dripping tap. Drip. Drip. But every time you go to look, the drip is gone, but as soon as you turn your back, Drip Drip it goes.
When the night comes to pass and you’re lying in your bed, the washing machine is spinning and spinning like all the thoughts in your head. And it spins and spins, and the swill in your head rinses the same old lines all over again.
And your skull is beside itself with its smug grin, laughing in your sleep; that’s why you grind your teeth.
And when you go outside, you see that your skeleton is wearing someone else’s fucking skin! And the man laughs, he laughs like your skull in your sleep, and you want to grab hold of that fucker and bleed your wrath all over him!
Poetry
Semantic satiation
Freedom
freedom
freedom
freedom
freedom
freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedooooooommm freeeddddooooooommmmm
freeeeeeeedddddoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmm
non-conformity
non-conformity
conformity
conformity
conformity conformity conformity conformity conformity conformity conformity conformity conformity
conformity
Con – Formity
Con con – formity conformity
The freedom for non-conformity
the freedom for non-conformity
the freedom for non-Conformity
the new conformity
It’s all been done?
The bible
it’s up to you how it’s sold?
The bible? Bible
Bible? Bible? Bible? Bible?
it’s up to you how it’s sold.
We’re always living
always
We’re always living
in 1984
George Orwellian?
George Orwellian?
We’re always living in
1984
George Orwellian?
Take a moment
any moment
and pull it out of a hat
and it’s
George Orwellian
if….
George Orwellian?
If you don’t like that?
The new criticism
new
old
new criticism
is George Orwellian?
It’s always 1984
We always live in
We always
We always live
in 1984?
1984? 1984?
It’s up to you how it’s sold
1984? 1984?
George Orwellian?
It’s up to you how it’s sold.
Fuck it.
Fuck it.
I’ve never meant it more than this
I want to crawl out of my own skin
traverse the earth and watch it burn
a skeletal aftermath
of my all-consuming wrath
the monsters I created in my head
are all the people I have and will ever be
caught in this emptiness
this machine that cradled us
I could never be good enough
to break free from this space
I’m becoming the monsters
the smug face ripped off my nemesis
is mine to take
basking in his out of this world place
where I own the world
and you’re all just pawns in my game
Fuck it.
Holding up this glass, half-empty
a toast to the monster I became.
Divine comedy
The sun holds our plight in contempt
it’s cheshire cat grin shining
while all the prying minds’ eyes
distort us in their image
smug and smiling
and behind our lips, our skulls join in
our fall from grace
a laughter track
for this comedy so divine.
I’ll let go too.
Everything feels tangled up
a mess of messes
I need some good news
in amongst this cover of darkness
because I’m starting to wonder
if it’s worth continuing through
I’ll stick around
not because I’m strong
but because I’m too weak to let go
and I won’t leave him behind
but when he lets go of his last breath
I feel assured
I’ll let go too.
Nurture to root
Sometimes I wonder if the only gun to my head is civility
Is it wild to be domesticated
or free to be mild
who can know what’s in another’s mind
I can’t play to their whims and dimes
I don’t have the patience or the time
one minute, everyone is fine
the next, a man is threatening you with a knife
and sometimes I wonder if the reflection in that silver
is a man waiting to fight back or surrender
could I be that madman you all talk about
bending to nature
as if his memories hadn’t been erased
therefore, he still knew he was as tree as green should be
nurture intending him to root and roost.
Stranded
Life feels too much like a marathon
where I’ve come to a halt
nowhere to turn, no way back
stranded in the middle of nowhere
reaching my limit
I can’t carry on.
What triggered you?
you ask
it’s the words you left out
not the conclusion you came to
because you have perceived me
and yet dismissed my point of view
in one fell swoop
and to add the salt in the wound
you say one thing to me
and another to everyone else
so what conclusion am I supposed to come to?
That you think me too dumb to take your words in?
You say it’s because I need space to process information
but I can’t process it with all the omissions
when they were the vital clues
to keep me from spiralling
Confession from a cunt 2
If you were a fly
I would swat you in a heartbeat
do you know that?
Born a monster
I want to lift my face off
so you can see the dark void behind
nothing can fill it
but the energy I seek out from you
call me Mr vampiric narcicuss
I am repulsed by your every move
yet I can’t help but watch you with awe
and you twist my brain till it spirals
Lost in these spiralling matters
I see my empty expression again
waiting to be painted into something resembling a human
I’m not like you
I’m not human in the core of me
I’m a monster
born
not created.
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 