Tag Archives: fear

You Little Maniacs – A Stream of Consciousness

It’s a super highway of

Egotistical maniacs





And desensitization keeps us calm

Except for the red of santa

Thanks Coke

And the wars

And the love

All red


Too fast

Everything is too fast

You egotistical


Just stop. And look. And listen

Walk away

It’s not at the bottom of your Costa cup


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Skin – A Love Poem…

I breathed in your skin

And gathered your warmth

Broke all your bones

So you wouldn’t walk

Then made a fire

Out of your hair

Sewed shut your eyes

So you wouldn’t stare

Danced in a circle

Poured your blood like wine

You won’t leave me now

Not this time.

IMG_7982 copy

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Posted by on February 21, 2016 in poem, Uncategorized


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The Virus

I’m just not sure if it’s infected. I mean, I’m infected. Just a cut on my elbow, probably, and that’s nothing to be worried about, or it could be something… Worse. It’s coming up to dusk, too silent in an age of transport and electricity. But there is nothing out there, just the autumn leaves being picked up by the wind. The city feels dead.

There was just so much going on, the darkness, the mass of bodies, dead, alive and in-between. They are worse at night, more active. We got cornered in a convenience store, the lights were smashed and we didn’t realise how quickly twilight turned to night. If only we had looked at the moon the night before. The place had obviously been raided for supplies way before we got there, the amount we tripped over shelves, limbs and empty baked bean cans. But backpacks were filling, it was not a wasted trip after all. But we needed to go, six of us in a volvo, with filled bags and bottles would be a tight squeeze.

Then suddenly, and let’s now in hindsight say expectedly, they came, more graceful than the movies portrayed them, and when we say ‘them’ you know. But still on the same mission, and you just couldn’t take it personally, it wasn’t their fault, and being a small town faces looked familiar, though now more twisted and greyed and snarling. It was the virus that was guiding them now, they couldn’t stop if they wanted to. And we panicked. They clambered and we tripped. They reached and we cowered, moving further into darkness and from where we should be. Then the screams, I don’t know who, it was contorted, almost a gurgle of panic, and we ran, we split apart and fought for our own lives.

Somehow, some blind luck or muscle memory, instinct took me and I ended up here, at my parents. I’ve not ventured this far out before, for fear of what I’d find. Somehow finding nothing was far worse than what I expected before I put the key in the door. And now I’m trying to work out my next move. It seems they only venture out when the darkness takes over, and before the stations went blank there was talk of vitamin D and sunlight. Like most parents, mine didn’t really change my teenage bedroom. They thought I suffered with S.A.D., but I was really just playing at Goth, but they brought me a lightbox anyway to stave away the blues. Could it stop whatever might be swimming round me. The power is out, but in their wisdom they bought a portable one and with a flick of the switch I’m bathed in light.

They are at the door, I can hear them pulling of the handle, they still seem to understand what things do, though their sunken eyes tell a different story. Are they being drawn to the light or can they, the virus, smell uncontaminated flesh. A reverse decay. I told him I loved him, I sensed him there, next to me, before I ran. We didn’t have a plan if we got separated, everything moved so fast talk was minimal, no preparation. He’d never met my parents.

The window is not going to hold out much longer. I tried turning off the lightbox in case it was enticing them in. There seemed to be no difference in their vigour, and it made me feel ill, though in the pitch black the disorientation would have anyone spinning. I’m in catch 22, can’t run or hide, or really fight, not through so many. I’ll

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Posted by on October 3, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Floating conscious streams

Nuclear bombs to the head

Lost friends returned

I’m not as easily lead

So whatever the future

And bugger the past

Least it’s living again

I’ll make this last

Paint drips up the walls

Sirens pulsing though ears

Banish non believers

And bury the fears

So take what you will

And hold onto your dreams

There’s only one turn at this

Just tear open the seams

And breathe.

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Posted by on March 10, 2012 in experimental, poem, poetry


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And as the hail and snow kicks in, and resolutions are made, the hidden questions in your mind spring out like broken Jack-In-The-Boxes, the ones you had buried all year, the ones you thought you didn’t have to answer.

Where are you going? who do you trust? how can you love in a world like this? Is it all just pointless? is there a goal we all score in our final days? What is the reason for it all?

And so you pick up your drink and trying to drown out the voices, become numb again. It makes more sense when you’re cold. No answers and no questions, just speaking bollocks to anyone who will listen and not remembering the words in the morning. Then, like a broken record, do it all over again as soon as you’re able to stomach it.

Just keep on running.

And then a quote from a film makes you laugh – “I stopped believing in God as its Dog backwards” and you can suddenly tolerate the world just a little bit more then normal, and maybe without that pint in your hand.

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Posted by on December 14, 2011 in fiction, flash fiction, short fiction


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I’m a follower, a sheep, a wretch

A gutless moron, not capable of stepping outside the danger zone

Too scared to walk straight or do it wrong

Always apologising like a buffoon for things I did not

or did

Or whatever

Crashing memories, patterns, fighting for attention

No space in the back, standing room only

This will keep me up

All night, bolts of fear, frustration

Freaked of being the fool, laughed at or alienated.

Pathetic, nothing makes me better then anyone else

Born, breed, die

Not sure I will even manage that

Couldn’t fight out of a paper bag

It’s too big, too clever and I feel too small

Mouse in a fox hole


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Posted by on October 21, 2011 in fiction, flash fiction, poem, poetry


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Silent Screams

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Posted by on October 8, 2011 in Photography


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