More fool you

rose tinted glasses
lie shattered
on the floor.

you went back
it was
you hoped
wouldn’t be.

it was just
like it was


Cry baby

If you did it
In the play ground they’d
Shout cry-baby, cry-baby
So you sit in stark white
Propped up by a
Loo and a large glass
Of wine
Sobbing quietly,
Black rivers on your
Face and a pool of
Hurt in your eyes.
Kiss chase,
Spin the bottle,
Can’t rewind.

You’re never too old to
Cry,  baby.

I tried to fake my death

Tied a rope to an ancient tree
And scattered remnants,
Little parts of me.

Pretended I was cold, asleep.
Nails still growing six
Feet deep.

Took my plunge and held my breath
But I didn’t cheat you.
Or Death.

You cut me down and dug me up,
Scooped me from the
Water’s cup.

Hung to dry my sodden soul,
Gave me back my
Body, whole.

Set me free in other ways.
Let me soar to my
End of days.

Let me soar,
To my end of days.


She says you’re
a chip off the
old block,
sledgehammer words,
memories that should
stay scuplted in
sands of time.

You sit with
marbled grace and
sad eyes,
waiting for the last
time for her to try
and carve
your heart out.

You swore not to
resolve set in


Syria and people dying
Bellies swollen, children crying
Corrupt and spiteful politicians
Volunteers on mercy missions
Brutality and rebel fighters
Terror’s grip is closing tighter…

But British press have got the blues –
Brangelina is front page news…