C’mon lads – equal opportunities, join up for your country,
we need you to do your service. Meat grinder of death needs oiling
with your body fat and intestines.
You’ll get a medal for your success, tell your grandchildren
of your valour and heroism.
I want your blood to flow down the street,
turn it red, slippery like myself.
Tuesday 11th October 2011 2:25 pm
'She said / He said'
She mocked me
With full intent
Her tongue like a razor
To slice right through me
“This is not Poetry” she said
“It doesn’t even rhyme”
As I turned to her and said
“By your command...
But my inner self
Is not on demand
It’s not as fine
As the grains of sand
But also... not so bland”
Just like her look
Friday 29th April 2011 12:04 pm