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Updated: Fri, 25 Nov 2011 10:59 am

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English graduate, music reviewer, fashion assistant, writer of poetry, writer of short stories, performer of poetry, DJ for two years, lover of counter-culture, currently working on the release of my own publication HOWL and my first poetry book Down the Rabbit Hole.


Butts lay scattered around the glass ash tray That is the centre piece of the beer garden table. A heart sits skew-wiff, etched in such a way That reads S.M 4 V.C I.D.S.T I can’t help but wonder if they’ve already been destroyed Put out like the two’s of a burnt down Marlboro. The etch in their heart beats now entirely void. Another scrap piece of paper to stow In the top draw with the other past lovers Who’s dingy strings linger from their memory To the centre of your heart. Entwining with others Who had tied themselves to you temporarily. Isn’t the most important organ only a tangled mess Just a big giant knot sat in the centre of your chest? The sordid sexual encounters and fine bright romances Are nothing but scattered wires with the poor advances. Now look at your heart like it’s this goddamn ash tray. Full of men and women who once felt bright and new. Around the heart tray is where the people lay Who spilled outside the holder when the wind blew.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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