Broken Boys and Broken Men

Broken boys,

They wake up.

I like to think that their minds are cracked

But only their skin can.

Train tracks of scabbed blood travel down their back,

Bite marks bubble beneath their bristles of hair,

Bruises burn from my beating fists,

Outlining a dot to dot,

All are clues of miniature protest,

But these they show off,

They rename them.

He says, they say, they said:

‘moaning marks of pure passion’,


And we are all friends in the morning,

No stranger has jumped out from behind a bush to attack me,

Nor have I been threatened or blackmailed.

Sometimes the people who hurt you are the ones smiling in your photos

Or the ones who cook you breakfast,

Drive you home in the mornings,

The ones you trust.

So, its easiest to forget,

Laugh it away.

When all the lines are a little blurred,

Best not to colour anything in.

So, when you finally do say it,

It tastes like a lie,

A twisted fantasy.

The best weapon is factory made and poured into glass bottles

Because when you drink,

You forget.

It’s harder to point the finger

And why point it at a friend?

So, broken boys go on to be broken men

Who dust off their soiled skin suits,

smile and introduce themselves,

never to let you go

and the cycle repeats itself

Many of these broken men call themselves your friends.

abusebetrayalfriendshiphurtnormalisedpainsexismtaking advantage

◄ Be infinitely infinite into infinity

Of Flesh ►


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Martin Elder

Tue 4th Dec 2018 11:03

I love those lines at the end 'smile and introduce themselves'
there is so much just in those few words let alone the rest of this poem. A very powerful and beautiful piece of poetry.

Nice one

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