I will not linger in the storms you pass
That’s a lie, I know I will
all the signs are there
or rather torn apart
that you’ve been through
and I’m sick of you
because you leave carnage in your wake
some subtle some not so
and I always chase after these feelings
anger tinged with sadness
but I prefer the anger
till I do something rash
then I regret how I left myself
drifting in your storm
you cast a spell on my mind
treading through your footprints
knowing you’re always one step ahead
I can’t afford sympathy for you anymore
Probably neither the anger
but in your storms, I drift
and in my mind you fritter away my thoughts
I utter the word ‘hello,’
And reddened in the face
You look away
Hands in pockets
Lips a tight line
Containing a smirk
That’s for me, only mine
I know not what was said or done
But your embarrassment is palpable
I guess, I must be in the wrong
Later it will come to light
The tone of my voice wasn’t right
Or the way I stood or looked down
Or it was the way words sound
When coming out of my mouth
And the bashfulness on your face
Communicates to everyone
And like a virus it infects them all
Permeates the air
And I become
The cigarette end of jokes
And I, left in the ruins
Become the ash
Greyed and cemented
As i walk among you hairless apes (you’re not actually hairless though) I come to realise you have been classified wrong as Homo sapiens.
Homo (man) Sapiens (wise)
But you’re hardly wise. And I got a much more fitting name for you Homo Contradictus
For what I have noticed is that you’re all walking contradictions.
Oh don’t shoot me, I’m a walking contradiction too. But I’m a gorilla and haven’t been named as the ‘wise’ ones.
Enjoy your new species name, it fits better.
A cacophony of laughter fades
Along with the photographs on the page
Turning through time
long flown by
A ghost of a glimmer in her eyes.
Posts every Tuesday
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I’ve thought about the bridges you’ve crossed
While crossing my own rickety scaffold
And told myself not to judge another’s walk
The miles they’ve tread
But then you trespass the boundaries
And always think you’re in the right
While I pick up the pieces from
The pathways you’ve destroyed
Don’t forget to like, follow and share
I tell myself
You’re just a tornado
Nothing to be angry at
You’re just doing what storms do
Just step outside when you’re through
The wreckage is only natural
Like water damage from a flood
It’s part of the cycle
Sometimes you’re just a little whirlwind
Other days you’re a cyclone
You don’t care you’re in the zone
You think you’ve got my cover blown
Think you’ve got me dethroned
But I was never hiding
Nor do I have any power to abdicate
But you keep pointing your finger
Never looking in the mirror
I tell myself
You’re just a tornado
You’re just doing what storms do….
I find that people who tell me not to consume too much media consume a shitload of media about why they shouldn’t consume media.
The reality of life is mindbogglingly squiffy
Topys tervy, upside down, a little bit iffy!
Fold our thoughts…
Into our brains…
With questions bigger than ourselves
Is it any wonder we get ourselves into a tizzy?
I disturb me. I’m tired of life and death, I’m tired of me. I’m tired of other people and their baggage, their emotions, their problems, their excuses. I’m tired of what I go through not being worthy of the pain I feel. It makes me feel pathetic, I hate when I see someone with genuine suffering and all I can think is “I have all this pain inside, and my reasons aren’t worthy of the pain I feel. My pain is not worthy yet I feel it because I’m pathetic” I feel like a clown with those endless handkerchiefs, I have endless pain. A deep harrowing hole that can’t be emptied, that can’t be fulfilled. It can’t be either because it’s nothing and it’s everything.
What I really want to do is, cut myself off from the world, allow myself to mourn life and take a painless exit.
Under red glow
No one knows
the sordid details
of us in the throes
under red glow
But they don’t know
Blow by blow
©Silverbackgorillapoetry 2016 June
No picture for this one, you be the judge on what this one is about.
In fact no more pictures for my poetry, the words shall speak for themselves from here. If that means less people pay attention, so fucking be it.