Come and fold your paper here,
so she can secretly sail.
Another choke you caught,
another smiley face drawn bellow.

She was born like the sun,
out of chemical waste.
Born out of chances,
a well timed mistake.

Come and let the youth be shed,
our fallen are forever dead.
Two graves and inside
lies their spirit guide.

Too high for a worm
from a silent film,
silent forever with a face of shame.

The height from the worm,
blind and broke from fame
will row forever and face the shame.


Don’t stare at me.
I’m not on the Tate wall
or in the night sky.
Stare back at the TV screen,
just get glued and clueless
from the flashing flicks
and get tan from its glow.
You have sewn those clothes
and armchair onto yourself,
your mouth is bursting at the seems
with mangled food and saliva.
Repeat yourself for the final time,
as this sentence has been on too long,
I heard you say before you said.
So don’t talk now, you bore me anyhow.


A week ago ideas were painted,
with finger prints and wooden spoons,
of sunflowers and factory fumes.
A week later the paintings were dated,
repladed by animals cruelty created.

The sealed sardines are bear proof,
the tin was stolen from the factory roof.
There’s a fly between the ears of the thief
who uses glue to keep food off his teeth.
Where was the tin when we needed shelter
from the storm sold to mother nature.

Swim little fish, sleep more later.
Play dead when we catch the traitor,
with fishing nets that caught the train
or the spider web that caught the rain


Sleepy earthworm.
Never say cruel things about your wormhole.
(why won’t you remember)
Your spaghetti cast is amazing.
I’d encourage it in my garden
but all I have is a yards full of ants.

Fade out of the earth (solid element)
How many senses now?
I’m sure they’ll stay 2D and American.


A family of bricks, a community rock pile.
One man and 1 woman. Lay them together.
Candle number 3 was lit by one and too coldly.
Keep it in the fridge (it’ll last longer).
Wine in the baby bottle will make him / her
eat more meat
and wake up earlier in the A.M.


All The Ones stand in line,
they should match,
but none do.
She doesn’t even know his name.
Give it a week and she’ll be gone.
He could of left at sunrise like she did,
but he stayed in to watch the news.

Spirits in the glass haunt bodies in the dirt;
the drinks were all about the world
he could of drank, but he did enough.
The party went on as festive as before,
but she wasn’t there to notice all year round.

No body wants to dig up their graves to find rabbits.
The cave hides the earth and sea,
and traps the shadow to please.

The dangers of purity are all to clear,
charm and good looks make you gullible,
and suck you to sacrifice.
Being dragged up the jagged hill
he can only weep, but only smile
at the kite that flies higher than was wished.


After scavenging through debris,
he sat on the beach to watch the world end.
He asked for balance, but was outnumbered by the waves,
so screamed for silence with a knife made of gold.
He threw it into the water to hear it splash a minute later,
it sunk to the silt and clay.
Though through the murky water, it shone like mountain snow;
the colour echoed, the echo swam over the waves
until it reached the lighthouse keeper
who had been stored there for years.
Her silhouette posed like a full moon and the first flowers of spring.
From over his shoulder flew the crow to show him over the stepping stones.

Their embrace formed like a rainbow
for when the sky falls they shall have a table to shelter.
She’s as lonely as the stars are far, her hunger like warm butter;
his stars are as far, but has hunger like a lost dog.
Their hearts are weak and their skin is thin,
neither can provide what they were searching for in this midsummer night.
They should of kept to empty soup cans on string.
There is dirt on the packhorse, so he follows the moon
aboard the mist back to his brick tower to build another floor of sticks.
And on their sail boats, they take their worm half before they grow whole.


Diamond dust in the lunar breeze,
rotating rocks in the open seas.
The stars are dirty from too much need
their words are written in second hand grease.

The monster knows our lucid dreams,
it’s hint of tail in vivid green.

The curse of noise is better seen
on photographs and TV screens.
A thirsty crow sits on an empty tree
for it’s spring to grow then pick it clean.
Bring a hammer down on to our knees,
we’ll still dance for you then wash your feet


The crush letters; the compost for
the rotten garden that will never grow.
The iron gate calls and the seagull falls
of the tongue and into the cheek.
The paint fumes linger like the stains
left over from last nights guests.
Thick nests stick to varicose trees
behind the tattered plastic bags,
while the white chalk scrapes
on slates for a life time so far.


New truth breaks darkness for those who stroll alone.
A door will close to shed light on neglected rules,
only the celebrated will exit.
The absence of light will hide us from each other,
the shadows will be welcomed.

The lands of difference will merge soon,
leaving a line for those who know different.
Playing the game of chasing butterflies will make small change.
Fooling eyes will trick us,
leading us onto fields we hate like poison.

Walk the selected home to set an example
of civil loyalty, then take rest
under the bridge to avoid the veiling rain.


I stole the deserted drinks from the hedonists
because I couldn’t afford to be their friend.
I strolled along the suited unseen, only the hell veteran noticed me.
She took me in from the billowing smog to give me shelter,
she like my face, I liked her promise.
Time was all my partner had to quench my troubled face.
Time is a saver and freshens the breath,
but my stubborn breath stayed in the shadows of the bottom draw.

My partners pillow I covered in spit when I made us cry,
I ripped open my pours with a broken bottle
and dragged my partner back to the rack she left behind.
I left her behind when I bolted at full haste,
too honest to turn the other way.
Regret is not good enough, so no one hears me apologise.
I stopped to collapse and splutter out my acidic insides,
I tried to remember my partner’s name
but I couldn’t remember what she looked like.


Kicked out from the coward’s escape,
pieces of wake collapse down the broken ruins
like a glass paper weight.
Personal answers roll in like a flash flood
leaving no boundaries unharmed.

Lead me to leave this sleaze that pounds me.
Sell me a river that runs through tangled mud,
so we can dive in for fresh air.
I have no idea how many fingers are being held;
but if I am sane, I am a rebel.

As content as an un-hatched bird on concrete,
I cover my ear in bandages
and sprinkle your thoughts with fairy dust.
You’re in an eggshell and I walk all over it.
Your pride is a portrait mask.
Your praise is a bell jar.


Disco dancing in the heat wave,
I’m a sombre hermit who rents a cave.

Carlisle slopes on a backwards path,
it’s hard to connect in a cenotaph.

Friends and enemies can only meet me
while degrading each other’s vanity.

Those dirty dishes grow my stubble,
so I’ll put on make up then look for trouble.

Fighting violence by flirting crosses their line
as you grin them a smile made of red wine.

White knuckle shining will do you no harm,
seeing a tiger is part of its charm.

I shudder upon the stage fashion is at,
tying fireworks to a howling cat.

Man makes concrete, spiders make silk,
so I take an overdose then buy some milk.

Morning rain clouds starved of glory,
please read me a bedtime story.

The obedient die weak and wrong
I want to sing a different song.


The unborn ripped out the mother’s womb,
eyes pecked out in their youth,
blinded from the ugliness who pampers their soul.
All innocence now road kill.
The greatest strain of sickness is just branches away.

Forgiveness is the missing deadly sin,
only find your god after your execution;
until then, cry every tear on your deathbed.
I call for noble justice, it gives more respect.
Nature can be cruel, but it’s merciful.
A parasite ridden home is fumigated,
so a bullet can fumigate your mind.


Mutter me your absence,
deliver me your wrath;
destroy the chains to your ancient existence,
your culture is drowning.
Hang on to every word
so the silence doesn’t mutate you.

A king only picks fine art;
the tyrant leader is a lover
of delicate oil on canvas.
The demon art, she lost me
in a wave of carrion dust.

She hung me on this earth,
she lost me on this earth.
Lakes turning rusty,
seas turn to taste the relics blood.
Her severed rows of fishing lines feed me now
the bread crumb trail has ended.


Like warm milk laced with caffeine,
you’ve given me sleepless nights
and days spent feeling drugged.
Waltzing around the dazzling sun
in the white light of night.

Like the pins in a butterfly,
the glassy eye will protect and spy,
record movement, seal them in time.
They don’t know our thoughts,
or nor do those who share our boredom.

Like when a tree falls,
there’s so much space outside.
The voice of the sky may change,
but will always spell for the automatic classes
that rumbles beneath it.

Like a mute on ecstasy
intoxicated with hidden words,
I want to speak them, no one will talk.
I want to recite the brightest and darkest history,
but truth wasn’t built in a day.


A bite is all I need to feel
to remind me that I’m real.
The same thing, or something new,
curbing the fall that tastes the pavement.

Morally I’m no angel
with a heart just as dark.
Disturbed by wo/men,
destroyed by magazines.
You make me disgusting,
You made my skin cry.

Mimes acted twisted,
I wake with rust coloured legs.
Too much vodka and blood for a Sunday.
Come tomorrow I’ll still remember my P’s and Q’s,
there’s no excuse for gut reactions,
the conversation makes you look ugly.


Gripped in fear, nerves hang by a thread,
under so much strain for the desire I dread.
You’re as scummy as the streets you choose to tread,
you’ve planted God's Lonely Man in my head,
if I had a gun I’d shoot those cunts dead.


Silence interupted, we became side kicks,
sharing out troubles like a plate of chips.
Digging much deeper to an early grave,
you gave me the project to make you safe.

Your empty bottle of methadone sits in my bin,
my tea spoon is stained with your heroin.
Like those dirty needles sleazing in you bag,
is that my deal, used then scrapped.

I can’t understand a word you say
when you have pumped that junk into your veins,
bent crippled and death rattling on my bed.
Couldn’t you of just shaved your head instead,
or used a razor blade to take away the pain.
It is usually me who is the bigger mess
with this Pollock painting on my chest.


Modern life too upsetting to justify,
choking my chest so much I could cry.
My loneliness like a suffocation,
with a fear and need of human affection.
Simmering days so vacant and tame,
enter the fable to cast her mind game.

A beauty so rare, the world chose to betray.
Abused by vermin to perform foul-play.
Surviving such suffering by a vitae of sin,
I pine for such soul to be genuine.
Pieces of me are in her palm,
all smitten and restless by her charm.


Saturday night spent alone,
Locked in keep, stuck to my throne
This primal light makes the close of day more wholesome.
Sheltered in the shadows,
sad sights aren’t around to pose.
Enjoy your solitude when you are lonesome.


Not wanting to talk or look at anyone,
I sat amongst myself,
and stared out the window
at the nightly world I was trapped in.
But all I could see was my ghostly reflection
staring vacantly back in return.

Even though sleep was the highlight of the day,
I didn’t want to go, I felt I was being punished.

I sat still in my silence,
and listened,
and thought,
and listened,
until I had to go to bed.


Slugs fester on my carpet
as I fester in my wallow
watching mould creep up the wall
and along the broken window.
Sleeping tonight is too much to ask.

What have I become – ten years from now.
Did I ever imagine me here like this
when I grew up.
Renting a bedsit on a main road,
drinking cheap red wine on my own.
Spending months in search of a job,
wearing clothes from a charity shop.

My Beano days are gone,
and alone is all I see;
I can read it in my palms ,
I can taste it in my tea.

I’ve said too much,
I’ll leave it there.
I can see you roll back your eyes,
I can here you sigh.
I apologise


Yes, I’m the one in the corner,
staring at my shoes
and pulling out my hair.
Which one of your faces do I voice?
There’s too many to choose my choice.
You call me a creep
and burp your bitch behind me.
but I guess that’s the nature
of the misunderstood.

I’m not that dumb you know,
just because I don’t carry on like you do
and do the things you do.
I’m not as weak
as you may think,
that stick you use to wound me
is merely my food, honey.
And while I’m on the subject
if you think you can shrink me
again your wrong,
the kicks you give only make me strong.

I like thing black,
what’s wrong with that?
I’d rather live in my madness
than your Disney World.
So you can leave me in my daydream
and I’ll leave you with your ego


I joined your family
to show my former tormenters
I was worth the land I stood upon.
But you pulled away my carpet,
over a pile of jagged rocks.
Finding my feet, I perfected control
and made myself at home.

Why should I feel small and worthless
when your superior scoff
snaps from your hollow turnip face?

So here I am, standing on my own,
empty handed, with my art on my walls.
I don’t want to abide by you
and mock the things you ignore to see.
I’d rather stay on my spiral
than be diluted in your banal flock.


I can’t take my eyes off your bare chest,
you can’t take your eyes off mine.
I can see your surprise,
unlike me
you don’t like what you see,
or you don’t understand.

I’ve had this chest bug a while now,
I was hoping to take it off.
Don’t worry, I’ll call you a taxi
or I’ll walk you home.
I’ll be okay talking to myself
in my mousehole under the floor.


I don’t know what I said
for you to put your hand over mine,
but let me now take it
to leave this slum of filthy mess.
The people are grim,
the music is dire.
Don’t let your man see he may get jealous.

Let’s segregate ourselves in my secret den
where I can charm you with my bedsit bard.
It’s cold there, but I have tea and coffee
and a new double bed,
it’s a shame to let it waste as a single.
I don’t want much,
no sleaze, no commitment,
just a fleeting soul mate
with a soft female touch.


With a stone in my shoe
and wearing an itchy jumper,
I tried to explain I had a splinter;
how my hand felt vacant,
and all I needed was a shoulder.

With a punctured lung and jaw lock,
I tried to explain how a wolf can never cry;
how only a swan can sing it’s song,
a moth can sing nothing.

But only a desolated murmur passed my lips.
I had forgotten she sewed them up
the first time I opened them.

Cocoon shed eyes look different.
She was curled up like a lizard
with her spine facing me.
She may have been asleep
or she may have just been ignoring me.


Get down from your plastic pedestal
and remove your plastic crown,
you look ridiculous,
you offend my senses.

Your opposable thumbs are only used
for counting your money,
be careful you don’t get a paper cut.

How good is enough in your high and mighty palace?
How motivated can one be in your glow of hate and malice?

I bored myself gimping for you,
I learned a lot and saw right through.
Sly glass pigs, you were to busy stabbing to the top
to realise I’m Chief Broom.


On this day, Coffee was pushed to earth.
His first scream was the first of many.
A gleeful crawl lead to encouraged steps
to a bewildered stagger down the spiral.
Where are Coffee’s chosen ones to celebrate this?
They don’t know it or don’t care.

Coffee and Honey sit divided,
his better half has better things then jelly and ice cream.
The rose lies on the shelf
wrapped in a coat of dust
like the first frost of winter.

Only one slice of the cake has been eaten,
it was too sweet for Coffee,
it made him feel guilty.
Soon it will turn stale and will be put it in the bin.

While Honey slept tight,
Coffee locked himself in the gutter
and slashed the waste out his legs.
The tickle of the beads soothed
more than a stroke of a feather.
It glowed more glorious as a candle.
By the last petal she loved him not,
for he’s a jolly good fellow.


With our pillow talk, I fell in fog,
you took away my eyes.
But the only thing I fell for were your lies.


I see you, little cutie, sat opposite me,
you’re reading a book, I’m writing poetry.
I’d like to come over and talk with you,
ideally, I’d smile and say to you,
“Can I sit here and be with you?
Can I sit here cos there’s room for two?”

But I’d go bright red and turn bashful,
lower my head and feel a fool.

I wonder what your name is,
I wonder what you do,
if you’ve got a boyfriend
or the slightest clue,
that I’m gently looking over at you,
that I’m writing in my book all about you.

I’ve got to go to work now, I hate it there,
I’d rather sit here and softly stare.


Richey and Lizzy come out with me,
let’s go and play with our Stanley,
let’s skip dinner and just drink instead
get a fix and go to bed.
Creating art when nature calls,
I’ll show you mine if you me yours.
Let’s beat our selves before others do,
wallowing in pity in our solitude.


With a handful of sand, I watch the years
slowly slip through my fingers one grain at a time.
My legacy will end with my last words.

Annual feasts served weekly
now shoes are as cheap as socks.
Cobwebbed feet and brittle nails,
I lose my teeth for the second time.
The wrinkles and scars merge,
everything is turning yellow in the corners.
I waited for ages for change,
but this change has aged me.
Life, as long as string;
when will our blinks set.

We all become each others distant memory,
just a nameless, faceless, entity.
The best friend I never made,
the lover I never loved,
the father I never became.
The peak of passion was always flat
as the screen I saw the world through.

Class-A words concealed under my hat
or are they now downgraded,
I can’t keep up with the paperboy.
Only the villain will help the lost child,
only the youth will harm the elder;
a war would keep them from trouble.

Childhood laughter only confuses your adulthood.
I never faked it in the park like I fake it in the bed.
Stay young kids, stay seven forever.
Stay playing Pooh Sticks and throwing bread for hens.
Stick with houses made of shoe boxes and castles built on sand.
Don’t let us trade your piggy bank for a bank account.


Oh, pleasant land, where art thou,
you steaming wasteland of piss and shit.
Breathe in its fumes and check the time frame,
now dig yourself out the hole.

Any idiot can walk their way to the gallows,
you need no helping hand,
it’s everyidiots outcome.

Drown in town in different faces,
they’re all fake,
copies of copies of copies.

Such dignity in loneliness,
you can rest in peace,
you don’t have to run away.


I got a memoir from a social-phobe,
he had issues way out of control.
His nature was self-disgust,
and preaching diffidence.
The dreams he dreamt never came true,
what was a nightmare was now true.

Always laid in bed with a blade by his side,
just because he’s afraid of night.
The pen at his side wouldn’t go far,
He’d stay up late inscribing his art.
His rib cage was getting big
on being borderline anorexic

Every line read a beast came out,
every page turned a ghost fell out.
The noise around is starting to clear,
but every noise has an image
and that's starting to appear.


The road is hard to drive on with no manner of control,
the drifting lunatic twists around the pole.
Led into the ocean by the leading blind,
where the crowd gets crowded then swept out by the tide.

The critic is the enemy, laughing when you’re dead,
spray-painting “failure” till all you see is red.
Dug up by a black dog, shot down by the elite,
burn the white flag that would make you look complete.

The creeps are creeping down the ghost train,
dead leaves are blowing down memory lane.
Time waste dreaming, so stop sleeping,
to make the real world start spinning.


I’d love to say I love you,
but I’m too scared to.
You’d probably just ignore me,
So I don’t think I ever will.


The house is full of life,
the sound of happy talk and laughter.
I feel too nervous to join them,
they don’t care if I’m there.
I close the door
to close out the screams of life

I sometimes want to disappear,
rot away from view and not leave a trace.
I morph in my pity in my silence,
not for attention, but alienation.
It’s worth a try, I’ve nothing to lose,
to find self esteem in self-abuse.


I woke up this morning fast asleep,
and dragged my corpse out of bed.
It’s too cold in Hell and I’m too tired.
Every mirror I see you in you always look shattered.

On the wet crumbling streets
insipid zombies push brooms around empty boxes.
I step to you, you step to me,
please leave me alone, I’m too tired.

I’m too tired of this mourning,
I just want comfort and a place to stay.
I want to sleep until the grass grows and towers over me,
and stay alone in the undergrowth a mile in all direction.


People may think
you don't know where nowhere is.
Shortly after you go,
you will find there is nowhere to go.
You will wonder into your fate,
counting sheep as you pass
the ugly sores inside your head.

Reeking havoc upon our short-lived lives,
the tears of the savage beast
would like to enter void.
When I’m sleep are you awake?
Sneak away into the fake life
if that’s what you choose.


I can’t help the feelings,
I want them exhaled,
they bring me down like gravity.
If I could be anybody,
I’d be somebody different.
If I could love anybody,
it’d be someone I can.


In the eyes of the law you're just a number,
so don't wash my mind with your slander.
My heart despises the things you say
yet thousands smile in vain.

Domination of crisis is marching bold,
the last supper at the table is going cold.
Theatrical deliverance is such a farce,
the show brings down the stars.

Rage in the horizon is in his prime,
slurring the words of a major shrine.
The tortured souls will never rest,
their reflections fade possessed.

Worthy protests worn to the bone,
conker games played on mobile phones.
A coffin filled with processed meat
carried by the shell shocked with cobbled feet.

The stone circle looks flat at dawn,
free range children peck the dirt for corn.
Oily boys lick butter off their guns,
shoot tin cans then grind their gums.


Sick of being messed around,
being built up, being knocked down.
There’s no reasoning when you’re like this,
all the sulking and fake tears.

You don’t talk to me when I am there,
then bitch at me like I don’t care.
How much attention do you need?
All I can give you is me.

I don’t want to feel like this,
I’m getting sick and tired of it,
I don’t want to feel,
the way you make me feel.


The roses feel soft on my feet,
the sunlight burns my eyes,
tomorrow is tonight.

(Just another day of silence.)

Maybe we could laugh together,
and if we take our masks off,
maybe we could sing.

(Just another day of nothing.)

One day when the ice is broken,
we could cross the old bridge,
as long as it’s not too far.

(Another day of coping.)

Even if the winter’s over,
the sky could end up too high,
and we might disappear.

(I have no memory)