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

performed




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

trundle




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


Make a free website with Yola