bled satchels

gasp at at the gates

lungs won’t take further,

this stitch hurts hellish

the world bent over

at least monday has

totally broken, and that

ritual of being chased


thursday before fear

caught up and crashed into,

beaten against the railings

insignias of bruises don’t last

which way safely tomorrow?

will it be an elbow behind

the back? or if the minute is

sadistic, stripped and excruciated

pushed over into brambles

by the railway line where the

coal trains are too tired to


ridicule smothers overly keen,

conquest over the defeated

i’m pee soaked y-fronts, that

metallic taste amongst spittle

slain and dishevelled, scruffy

as a corpse not found for a

week, there’s glass beneath

this uniform, dare not uncurl

there isn’t lucky only misfortune,

before the bell breaks the

afternoon session, consider

which plight which unobserved

stealth should be taken, assured

dusk will hide you but dusk often

lies, prey will always be sought after

often to do another’s homework

home is where the grey grows

insipid and doubting, these

teenage years are grenades

and fast oils happening

succinct and cruel, greasy

and slick in the mirror’s

laughter, knowing difference

will be picked upon

as sure as rats in a

congenital sewer, sons are

about like magpies, mobile

phones sharp as cleavers

copying the next humiliation

subscribe to it’s internet spite,

why can’t that curse point

elsewhere or not at all?

it’s murder by tiny slices, feeding

from awkward discomfort,

why does unnecessary torture

give glee? some still have the

finger marks to prove it,

still has the shiver of

alienation and not quite

fitted to be adult

so don’t bluster that those

dull days were quite inherent

kindness and lenient, it was

hell and not the route to be

better and sorted, i’m now

lacklustre and thwarted,

audacious predators thieved

devoured the only time i had

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