To avoid all conflict
I remain silent:
but when I bite my tongue
I become more violent;
more bitter and derelict.
My silence is rotten
with pure contempt:
and when it's broken everything
incurs my wrath; no thing's exempt.
I kick chairs. No-one will listen.
To regain composure
I go out walking:
but down in the harrowing street
even the drunks seem to be muttering
about me. This inflames my temper!
To avoid crowds and heat
I return, still angry:
and nothing has really changed.
I sit down at my desk, sullenly,
and pretend I have been discreet.
by Phil Brown
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Copyright © Phil Brown