Monday, 21 November 2011

Navel Gazing


That’s me, thats what I do best,
Looking introspectively at
My own, vested, inter-ests.
Bending over forwards
To obscure peripheral view,
Closing off the outside world
And turning down the volume-
On alternate points of view.

I’m tripping over candlesticks,
I’m stepping over stones,
Never ceasing to remember
The importance of my own-
Internal diatribe; a
One-way conversation
 on the telephone.

I love to be a martyr
And pull myself to bits,
Perform a full-lobotomy;
Examine each synaptic nerve, and
Matter of grey solemnity.
I’m lifeless without lunacy
And self-projected clemency,
It happens all the time.
I drift in thoughts distractedly
And make the climb
From wisdom
Down to wine.

It matters not what others think,
I really couldn’t care.
As long as I meet eye to pie;
My loneliness and misery are
Sure to take me there.



*! Don’t be such a miserable bastard!

2 comments:

  1. This is the first poem I've read of yours Samantha, and I really like it. It's got an edge to it, a real strong punchy rhythm which suits the subject matter. Fave lines: 'I'm tripping over candlesticks, I'm stepping over stones... diatribe' - love that bit. Am eager to read more now!

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  2. Thank you for commenting. I had that line in my head '..candlesticks..stones'first of all. I wrote it very quickly and self-mockingly!

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