Passenger/The Step

Passenger

The train shudders as it streams along

A woman crying, a man asleep

The announcement “Next station – Fleet”

The smell of sweat, a window crack

This young boy, thirteen or so

Is on his phone, swearing – loud

The woman stopped crying a minute ago

The ticket officer appears, his face aglow

Sweat on his brow, in a musky cloud

A scent of unwashed body, dirty clothes

The pungent aroma of stale piss

The sound of laughter, a couple kiss

I hide my nerves, all the way to Hove

But when the train screeches to a halt

My inevitable fear takes hold.

The Step

The weather today is good

The clouds are light and white

The rain won’t come today

There’s no need for my hood

The autumn leaves are pretty

But not as pretty as my plan

I walk slowly – pausing for breath

Taking all the time I can

When I get to the station

I purchase a ticket for Fleet

Knowing full well it won’t be used

But I’ve got to be discreet

The sign above reads ‘Hove’

And my heart thumps with fear

Then I step out onto the tracks

And all the sadness and pain disappears.

The Problem

The Problem

The bruise on her face wasn’t

the problem, but hiding it

at work – people asked her

“Where did you get that?”

“What’ve you been up to?”

She’d have to lie – it was

the new dog, she jumped up at me

a bit too forcefully, or

I tripped down the stairs

and hit my cheek – let’s

go for lunch.

Change the subject.

The fractured ribs weren’t a problem.

Just walking like normal, in pain

“You’re so clumsy”, “Yeah I know,

It won’t happen again.”

The smack on the head wasn’t the

problem – just where to hide the body.

Phone in – “She’s not feeling well” whilst

carting her corpse into the boot.

A forty minute drive, the traffic was

a problem. The shovel, sweat, rain.

But when her boss needed answers

For his gain not hers, he rang

 her mobile, switched off.

‘Shit! Should’ve taken the battery out’.

The problem was becoming a problem,

so he took a gun to his head –

police raided the house, blood and brains,

found a note ‘I loved her.’

Eventually her body was found.

                                                              

Dug up, examined, confirmed:

that the husband wasn’t the only problem

but the lack of people concerned.

Jogging (The Dress)

I set off with good intentions

The time was quarter past eleven

It was hell, lack of breath

And not the glorified buzz of heaven

The trees and fields were pretty

And the dog walkers said hello

But I couldn’t wait to leave

Turn around, foot forward, and go

After I felt satisfaction

The sweat, the heat and the cold

And the euphoric natural high

Good endorphins, so I’ve been told

Although it was horrendous

I’ll have to do it again

If I want to look the part, a piece of art

And fit in that blue dress again.

Paralytic

Drunk words

Aren’t always sober thoughts

I don’t know why

I always get distraught

Smashing up my room

Like I’ve lost my mind

After too many vodkas

Peace is hard to find

Self-harm urges

Become so intense

Collecting packs of pills

I completely lose all sense

I don’t like who I am

When I turn to the drink

I don’t like what I do

And I don’t like what I think

Why can’t I just dance?

Smile, laugh and sing

I have now come to realise

Alcohol is an evil thing.

Fancy A Drink?

Do you fancy a drink?

It’ll make you feel good

Block out your worries

And turn around your mood.

A beverage does wonders

For the anxious mind

Cures the fretting

Leaves the sadness behind.

Alcohol isn’t evil

It doesn’t cause pain

And attending AA

Should come with no shame.

Because alcohol fuelled

My most darkest of days

It nearly killed me

But please don’t be fazed.

Whine

The Zinfandel won’t zest up your life

The Grenache doesn’t make you gorgeous

The Merlot never stopped your wife moaning

And the Shiraz won’t end your shyness.

Sauvignon Blanc isn’t a saving grace

And Pinot Grigio won’t kill the pangs

Chardonnay isn’t the answer

And Blossom Hill isn’t a place.

Echo Falls sounds so beautiful

Until you’re crying on the floor

Cause’ cold feet are better than Bare Foot

And Hardy’s won’t make you harder

When Jacob’s Creek is cold and dark

And Gallot just turns you shallow.

Stop whining and face your problems

Stop hiding behind the grapevine

Because you have to face your demons

You’re living on borrowed time. 

I Would Be a Serial Killer

The first time was the hardest

The anticipation and fear

Keeping watch – a close eye

Listening through both ears.

Once I got him sedated

And his limbs loose and soft

The slicing was quite easy

He gasped, sighed, then coughed.

The colour drained from his face

And his organs all shut down

He looked rather peaceful

Apart from the slight frown.

The cutting took a while

Peeling back layers of skin

The head was the easiest

It came off, while I grinned.

I got away with that one

I still don’t know how

But the second one went to shit

I blame that blood stained towel.

All was going smoothly

Until they found him in the bin

Well, just some parts

An eyeball and a limb.

The third’s the one with the hairy chest

But he’s still waiting for me

Maybe one day I’ll get out

But I doubt I’ll ever be free.

They say I’m a danger

To the public, and myself

They talk shit and feed me pills

To dull my mental health.

Now I lie here dreaming

About that scarlet tinted knife

And the one that got away

Still living his perfect life.

I was told I’ve a condition

Antisocial personality disorder

I would say I just like blood

And can be quite a hoarder.

The day that I get out

That son of a bitch will pay

He won’t see me coming

He’ll be looking the other way.

I’ll skin him like the others

And enjoy every second

Drowning out his cries

Until my ears are deafened.

But for now I’ll have to stay

And fantasise in my cell

But the world better get ready

I’m armed and I’ll cause hell.