poems

For My Mates

I can stand being bossed about,

shouted at and being a human screwdriver

at work doing various manual jobs making cakes.

Varied hours aren’t too bad.

In the cold light of day what stings

the most is knowing that

2 of my old work mates are dead,

out of 5 of us in the early/mid 90s,

on our department.

I’m not sentimental but that does touch

a nerve on the quieter moments.

Simply put,

this is life...

and I don’t agree with it,

no, not at all.

Chair Man

He made a decision to clean the factory chimney out.

Did he know it would be messy?

I look out of my window and see so much smoke emanating from the chimney.

It blanketed the fields in particulate sulphate alkali acid.

I was so happy! I could be a zombie now.

I ran down to the fields and danced naked in the grass.

I was in a real pea souper of man made chemical arsenic fog.

Right away it happened: zombification!

My skin bubbled like acid and fell off in tatters.

My lungs filled with liquid and I drowned in my own blood.

Every orifice streamed liquid, a real cock burn. Won't be using it no more.

The only gals for me will be ones I eat.

The smoke thins and I see a watery sky.

The pause between before and after.

My life and my very body have changed for the better.

I feel my teeth turning into steel shards that yearn for female zombie flesh.

I go in search of my first victim.

As I stroll thru the summer grass I see her. Mrs Peters from the farm.

She looks disorientated.

I close in.

Nightly Events

I'm used to sleeping alone at night in my bed. No one there.

I'm used to being unloved and unwanted at night, feeling the touch of a bullet.

I'm used to being forlorn and forsaken, dead inside during dark hours. Inside and out. I'm used to having no lover to get wet and sweaty with, damn hot eroticism. Not in my bed or life.

I'm used to having no one hold me close when I need to be loved. Leaving me loveless and lifeless.

I'm used to not hearing precious words like, 'Nick, you mean the world to me and fill my life with joy. I'm so in love with you,' whispered under the covers.

I'm used to loneliness that cuts like a knife in the middle of the night. At times I have a blade.

Real darkness like aggravated anxiety making my heart beat irregular.

Debilitating depression floors my mind.

Engulfed by excesses of drinking, poor liver. No replacement for a lover.

I'm used to low quality gals who try to use me, good riddance bitches!

I'm so not used to you being here. Stay or go?