Wednesday, April 02, 2008



Searching through the darkness
For an invisible light,
Fumbling along the pavement
With uncertain steps,
Throbbing head;
Pain everywhere.

A distant sound
Causes a mixture
Of hope and paranoia,

Sense of falling,
Water everywhere,
Landing in puddles;
Just lying there
Catching gasps of breath

Attempts to stand up
Are hampered,
By a hand
Pushing the head down,
Down into the puddle.

Sunday, March 30, 2008



Feeling ... of blood dripping from above onto an unclothed portion of flesh ... a banana skin ... telephones everywhere ringing ... as the blue nun is killed by an innocent passer-by flung by the force of the careering truck ... pasty ... tall Egyptian immigrants shouting at the nearby guards ... chronic indigestion from eating ... spent goods and empty shelves ... dividing the toilet duck equally ... shoes ... causing problems on an immense scale ... car crashes into a pushchair whilst the mother chats ... four gates open simultaneously ... onlookers ... boardroom staples ... locket ... hearts pumping faster and faster ... acres of fields being eaten by plump 75st locusts ... suspender belts and cowboy hats ... thrown into a supermarket like a discarded pencil sharpener ... told to pelt pelt ... sticks ... monkey wrench ... tunnel of love in an ancient fairground ... causing a pool to form on the pool blueprints ... stuffed with lamps ... plagued by three thousand irate foreigners holding aloft half-empty tubes of toothpaste ... green . . . ambling awkwardly ... jackets bent lazily around the forest perimeters at dusk ... furnace of doom ... pleasant flowers smelling of wet walls on a spring morning ... gerbils ... losing all ... Feeling.

Friday, March 28, 2008



Part 1

Sitting on the carpet
Staring blankly at the television
Music in the background,
Simply chilling out
With a bottle of red wine
And half an ounce;
Comfortably numb
Surrounded by images
Of past and present,
Contemplating the future
Highly philosophical;
Yet a sense of danger
Paranoia possibly,
But deep down...
A feeling.

Part 2

A deafening sound
A flash of light,
The feeling of metal
Piercing the skin
Smashing the bone;
Definitely a mistake
Buying that white carpet,
Though now you couldn't tell
Now it was red
With a splattering of grey matter
Lumps of shattered skull;
But still the shots were fired
Heard only by the gunman,
Then all was silent ...
As the executioner exited.

Part 3

Sensation of floating
Looking down
Upon my body,
But no feeling of loss
Simply an empty shell
Disposed of;
Although in a manner
That could not be understood
By those left,
Left to pick up the pieces
To redesign their lives;
For they'll never
Know the reason
The reason...
For the destruction.

Part 4

Drifting away
Like a particle of dust
On a gentle breeze,
Watching the world
As life goes on.
One can see other lifeforms
Being swept away
By the unending tide;
Everything becomes hazy,
Is this it?
The beginning of endless nothingness
The end of meaningless bollocks?
Well ... it's over now.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008



Smelling of piss and talking to himself, along with anyone who was unfortunate enough to walk past him, Pat waddled towards the supermarket. He was a fat bastard and had no friends, so he talked to anything and anyone, trapping them until they had no other choice than to tell him to shut up fuck off.
As Pat walked back home from the supermarket, he heard a bang and felt something hit him around the heart area. His podgy fingers, however, could not find anything amiss, so he carried on walking home. As he continued, he heard more bangs and felt more projectiles hit him, but he ignored it and hurried home as fast as his fat legs could carry him.
When Pat got home, he removed his bulky jacket, and discovered a number of airgun pellets embedded within it.
Now Pat was scared.
He didn't want to die.

Sunday, March 23, 2008



Hair falling out
Losing the battle of the scalp
Littering the floor
Forming hairballs
When will it stop?
Shave it off
Save the hassle

Be bold
Be bald

Tuesday, March 11, 2008




Friday, March 07, 2008



He didn't do
What was asked of him,
So he was punished;

Next time
He'll remember to do it,
Or suffer again;

A simple task
For a complete simpleton,
Yet still too complex;

One day,
He won't survive
The intense beating;

And will be left behind
All the others,
In a pile of his own shit.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008



I want you
I need you
You are tearing me apart,
My heart is broken
My mind is confused;

You refuse to reply,
We should be together
We are made for each other;
You make my heart stop

But they can't stop me,
They shouldn't interfere

You are so beautiful,
I still want you
I still need you
You must realise that,
You are the only one

Am I talking to myself?

Sunday, March 02, 2008



Tracing the leftover scraps
To the fourth house
On the left,

We were suddenly confronted
By an unusual dilemma
Concerning the use
Of our paper hats;

Do they help?
Or are they just silly?

Thursday, February 28, 2008



The sloping hills
With dense green forests
Alive with noises
Brightly coloured

Tuesday, February 26, 2008



There are no accidents;
It all
Just happens.

Saturday, February 23, 2008



Tommy was amazed by the immense heat
Coming from within his stomach area,
After Tommy had been given his favourite treat
In the back seat of his Sierra;

So Tommy decided investigation was called for
In order to determine the cause,
So he slashed himself and abruptly fainted on the floor
When he spotted inside him the gauze;

This lapse of consciousness and footing
Meant that Tommy failed to see,
The tripod and Bunsen burner ... er... burning
Like when he used to attend lessons in Chemistry;

Tommy didn't wake back up, ever
As he had died,
The intense heat meant that whatever
Was inside had fried.

Sunday, February 17, 2008



That's what's wrong with it,
It's broken!

Well can you fix it,
If it's broken?

You absolute twat,
It's broken !


Thursday, February 14, 2008



Trickling down his legs,
Slowly soaked up by his socks;

Did anyone notice?

Tuesday, February 12, 2008



"Tell me!"
That's what he said;

They were his last words though!
He won't speak any more,
Because he isn't here any more;

He's gone !

I did tell him though!
But he didn't hear anything,
And he won't hear anything else;

He's gone !

He went before I told him!
I thought it would be better that way,
Save him the agony of knowing;

He's gone !

Maybe it was unfair
Maybe it was cruel
Maybe it wasn't right

But I couldn't tell him to his face!
Not whilst he was here anyway,
Much easier when his face is gone;

He's gone !

It wasn't my fault at all though!
He shouldn't have asked the question, demanded the answer,
He knows that now, but now's too late;

He's gone !

Saturday, February 09, 2008



Fleeing the unseen;
Passing by the fallen,
Never looking back,
Running blindly forth;
Until captured.

Friday, February 08, 2008



Yeah You
You over there

What the fuck's your problem then?
Come on

You're a fucking twat you are
Yeah You

Come over here you fucking smelly wanker
What's coming

I piss on your face
I £art on your face
I shit on your face

But it don't matter does it?
You stink already
You fucking smelly bastard

Come on
You scared or something
Come here

You fucking listening?
Come here you fucking smelly bastard.

Sunday, April 30, 2006



Tim had a job that many people thought of as bizarre. But people didn't realise how busy Tim actually was. The disappearance of refrigerators was an extremely frequent occurrence.
Many that Tim had tracked down had cracked and confessed that they had upped and left because they were disillusioned with life. Most, however, had eloped, although some had left due to their overwhelming aspirations to become a freezer, a washing machine, or a whole variety of other household appliances, and some had quite simply become irritated with their owners and had left to discover pastures new.
The refrigerators liked Tim, because he knew how to treat them right. They trusted him when he caught up with them, because he listened to them and sorted out their problems for them.
However, it has all changed now. News is arriving that Tim is dead.
The world of cold storage is in mourning for the only person who took notice and understood them.
How did Tim die?
The butler did it!

Friday, April 28, 2006



As Chris attempted to get to sleep, he heard more and more sounds, sounds trying to hinder his quest.
The steady ticking of his wristwatch was just about bearable. But the repetitive beats coming from next door drove him crazy. Nothing would cover the noise. People shouting outside. Babies screaming. Someone moving around upstairs. Dogs barking. Cars driving by. And then his doorbell rang, again and again and again. Why wouldn't they just fuck off?
He couldn't sleep.

So.. .
He killed himself.

Now. . .
He was asleep.


Thursday, April 27, 2006



Deep into the night

Until, eventually
It stopped

But the silence was much worse,
Much worse ...

I started barking again.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006



Suck my cheese;
Scrape it out,
Put it on a plate;
Suck my cheese.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006



That’s what she called them.
Not from here though; according to her, they were from a long long way away.

Slightly loopy!
That’s what she was.
Not that I was completely dismissing her tale; I just wasn’t getting too concerned.

That’s what she reckoned.
Not that we’d notice; as they were apparently not visible to the human eye.

That’s what she said was coming.
Not that she was worried; she said she knew her time was coming, and that this was it.

I listened to her.
I comforted her.

But she was adamant it was happening now, and that they’d be here soon.

I didn’t believe her.
I killed her.

But she was right…

The marauders are here!
Death is here.

Monday, April 24, 2006



A river flowing silently through,
A river flowing steadily onwards
Meandering across the countryside,
Dissecting the trees and hills;

Little at the start,
Dribbling along;

Large at the end,
Gushing Forth;

A union at the meeting place,
The river and the sea;
Becoming one.

Sunday, November 06, 2005






The sheep gamble about, oblivious to a man sitting, watching, concentrating on the spectacle before him. The reds, blues, whites, all converging, the sheep becoming bloated and largely abnormal. Where is the hillside? All the man can see is sheep. Sheep every-fucking-where. One bursts, and a baby screams, piercing his head. Covering his ears he notices large metal poles protruding from his elbows. As he stares, they join together and draw his elbows closer to each other until they too join together. The large sheep are now staring at him. Are they all laughing at him? An evil manifestation mocks him as it swirls lazily around before him, destroying his head with unearthly noises. What is happening?

Sheep. Sheep. Sheep.

"Oh Lord, save me!" whispers the man, as the sheep start bouncing around and exploding. Pain shoots throughout his body, and now all is blank. He is unable to think.

Saturday, November 05, 2005



At getting tickets
For the team in red

As they enter the ground
Chanting and singing

About the growing crowd size
Still getting larger

When it becomes harder to breathe
Being crushed against each other

As the person in front collapses
Getting trampled on


Joyous again;
As nothingness sweeps over
Void of feeling



The ground was not solid
The sky was not there,
So where was I?

My last memory
Was of walking,
But now
It felt
Like I was in suspended animation.

Difficult to breathe,
Slowly suffocating;
A nauseating aroma
Fills my nostrils
As I slowly float
Within inches
Of a decomposing corpse.

I begin
To understand;
I'm in a swamp,
Never to live again;
I'm in a fucking swamp!

Sunday, October 30, 2005



Fleeing the unseen;
Passing by the fallen,
Never looking back,
Running blindly forth;
Until captured.



They don't flow
As regularly, any more;
Now, they're erratic,
As and when
Who knows.

There is so much happening
The time,

But it's nice.

Sit and wait,
For the next flow,

As the flow will continue;
There is no stopping it,
Just moments
(Sometimes long moments)
That interrupt the flow;

Nice moments though,
(Sometimes nice long moments)
(Sometimes long nice moments)


Saturday, October 22, 2005



As the snowdrops fell,
The bodies also fell;
Shot down by the unrelenting sniper fire
Buildings reduced to rubble all around
Bombs falling,
Bodies falling;

War has reared its ugly head again
Will they ever learn it never changes?
Winter is here, and everyone can feel it,
As they huddle underground;
The ground shakes
And dust falls off the ceiling
Missiles flying,
Children crying;

Up in the hills the enemy is resting
Preparing for the big push for victory.
Tomorrow becomes today
And the war rages on
... ... and on
... ... ... ... ... and on.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005



He was a dickhead
Nobody liked him

Because he looked weird;

He wasn't hated
Just didn't like him

Because he looked weird;

He tried his best
People didn't notice

Because he looked weird;

He killed himself
No one cared

Because he looked weird.

Thursday, October 13, 2005



The priest walked along the deserted sidewalk, quietly humming to himself as he reflected on the confession a woman had just told him about in great detail. The more he thought about it, the more he wished he hadn't been on duty during the morning. Too late now though, he'd heard all about her depraved exploits. Those poor poor kids, their eyes showing intense distress as they were sexually abused, before being dismembered limb by limb, bit by bit. What a world we live in, he thought to himself, what a world. Father Jacob paused for a moment, then continued; the voice, he was sure he recognised the woman’s thinly disguised voice, but he couldn't quite narrow it down and put a face to it. Thirty seven children between the ages of four and fourteen, wiped off the face of this Earth, their empty shells dumped or pieces kept in freezers in the basement of a local home. Her voice. She said she didn't regret it, she just needed to tell somebody. Who was she?

When he reached his home, he lit a cigarette and sat on the steps thinking over those words he'd heard earlier, finding it amazing how someone could be so twisted to carry out such horrific atrocities. Stubbing out his cigarette, Father Jacob decided he needed a stiff drink, so he rose and entered his home.

Sitting at the far end of the room was a person, sitting facing towards him. As he drew closer he noticed it was a woman, and he uttered a gasp of surprise as he noticed that sitting before him was his sister, whom he had never seen or heard from for over twenty years.

He made some drinks and caught up on the old times. But every time she spoke, her voice seemed uncannily familiar. No, it couldn't be; he decided it was just a coincidence.

However, as the night grew on, she became more drunk, and subsequently more forthright. He was ready to retire for the night, when he asked what she was actually doing in town after all these years, to which she answered; "I thought I'd come and see my brother and tell him what I'd been up to recently!" He encouraged her to continue, but she said that she'd already confessed.



Slipping, falling, dropping
From my grasp
The apple spills
Jeremy shouts to the customers
Heat everywhere
Getting misty
Getting hazy
Where are all the seats?
The floor collapses

The apple spills
Everywhere there are screams
People are dropping like flies
What is happening?
The ground is covered in apples
From the sky
They keep on falling
Never has this happened before
Why is it happening?
Apples fucking apples.

Monday, October 10, 2005



Ripped up
Thrust forth
Ejected from within;
To cover whatever may lie,
In it's path.

Smell astounds,
Sight appals;
And the taste
Is just fucking awful.

Sunday, October 09, 2005



Churn !
Churn, churn, churn!

That's all I did
every fucking day
of every fucking week.

Why wouldn't they let me do anything else?

I have abilities!
I can do better than churn!

Saturday, October 08, 2005



He was eventually caught,
But it wasn't his fault;
He was only executing what he'd been taught.

For his crimes, he was shot
Straight through the head,
At night, in a disused car lot.

His life was taken away from him;
As a result
Of being named Jim.



Brandishing a long knife
She lunged at me
Thrusting forward
Severing my flesh.

I screamed
As blood poured from my wound
Staining the carpet
Forming a pool.

Yet she did not relent
Again and again
Plunging forth
Puncturing my organs.

Collapsed in a heap
Struggling for breath
As blankness arrives
With the comfort of death.