A Force of Destruction
A tornado of insanity
His line of thought runs parallel to the definition of insanity,
Warped beyond recognition to those in his vicinity,
A reality only he can experience within his orbit,
Wearing his unrealistic ideology of his masculinity.
***
He pushes at those that respond in any way,
Tugging at their frustrations in sheer arrogance,
Pulling at the frayed edges, riling even the most placid,
Bullying, tearing away at life’s very elegance.
***
Self sabotage the order of the day,
Surprisingly unexpected to those in the firing line,
A sense of shock, surreal in its ability to crush,
All in the guise of pretending he is fine.
***
Honesty is the missing ingredient,
Introspection necessary but he refuses the deed,
Believing he is justified when dishing out the pain,
Why? Because he’s tearing out his own heart, watching it bleed.
***
Hours spent living within his head,
Worrying the thoughts until he almost explodes,
Pinning him to the warpath looking for his next victim,
Foolishly, he doesn’t realise he’s at sanity’s crossroads.
***
Speak in haste and regret will slam him down later,
Immaturity at the bend of his junction,
The self justification is totally unbelievable,
Although to him it makes sense, it’s how he is to function.
***
Random hostility is a shock to face,
Learning that trusting him is a near impossibility,
Walking on eggshells, constantly trembling in anticipation,
Makes any lasting relationship an agonising infeasibility.
***
He stands tall and proud in his alternate reality,
Blind to the trauma he leaves in his wake,
Victims torn, bloody and ragged,
Wrapped in the agony of his tormenting heartbreak.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.
Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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More stories from Colleen Millsteed and writers in Poets and other communities.
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
Why do I feel you have ever so politely described me, my friend? (Echoing the thoughts of Margaret & Dharrsheena.) I apologize if I have hurt any of you in any way.
I echo what Margaret said. Only you can so politely describe a not so nice character! Loved your poem my friend!
I loved it ❤️ Hope my stories gets to this point 😪😪 What type of stories do you guys like🤗
Why does this sound like somebody I know? Also, why does it sound like somebody that we both know? Also, also, why does it sound like somebody we know that uses this platform? Hmmmm... suspicions, suspicions.
I know several people who fit this description and yet you've put them into words that are much more polite than I would have thought to use. This is really awesome!