Correspondence With the Enemy

They walk the path that heroes tread
Entranced, the bugles cry
so many join the honoured dead.
Their souls destined to die.

They all fought hard and all fought well
Across the no-mans land
He’d sent them to the jaws of hell
Led onward by his hand.

War’s not glory; unlike he said
To claim the hearts of men
And with their lives, his hands are red
enough to ink his pen.

He thought it was right, at the time
That Your country needs you.
The great indoctrination line
To help inspire our youth.

Now he drowns, in dead letter days
And haunted by the truth
Of all the lies, he now betrays;
His words condemned by proof.

Driftwood – A Working title

Lost in the fog
the haze cuts
his eyelids
drifting open
pooling with water.

His skin burns
through layers
of soaked
winter clothes
heavy in a river.

The veil of night
slowly burns away
as sun rise
lights his log body
that floats, still.

Bitten and gnawed
just a form
aloft in water
passing beneath
numb flesh.

Dead eyes stare
on forever
into distant places
in natures arms.

Here lies a man
burnt and broken
by the cold of ice
sore in sheets
of woollen warmth.

The flowers blind
with white reflection
of light from unfelt sun
in a cold uncaring room
and steel hospital bed.


Splinters wrench themselves
out of his eyes
as they flake away
from his wooden mind
shaken and cold
he floated in the water
the rot took its toll
his thoughts frozen.

Shards of memory turn to glass
and shatter
drifting in the breeze
as the wind howls
tears are carried away
forgotten truths and lies
a haze of shadows
filling the chasm cracks.

Castaway upon a sea of troubles
lost on waves
of doubt and dismay
his clarity stolen
a storm that shall not clear
as he watches the sky fall
the heart of the storm
hidden behind glassy eyes.


I sit in a dark corner, the Offspring blaring into my ears on full volume, “Spare Me The Details” stuck on repeat, my face, chest and thighs, all soaked through.


‘A fool in love is a fool indeed’.  I repeat the line during the lull in the music before the singing begins, tapping the words upon my tongue to the opening beat before drowning once again.  It is quite surprising how much water can come out of your body without passing out.  I have been sat here for hours now, the stream has stopped for a single moment as I stare into the ground in the darkness, I don’t even notice my eyes blinking to allow another heavy cascade every minute or so.


Music has always had a song that can relate to how you feel, your situation, have some kind of therapy to help you through.  But it is never that easy, if only it were, then I wouldn’t feel this way.  This song felt like the right one, even if the words were slightly off, the mind can readjust things to help it be more suitable.  Ignoring the part about the girl getting drunk, she didn’t need any alcohol to let him fuck her.  I feel so dumb and worthless.  I just wasn’t enough for her, right?


As the battery runs dry, I take the ear phones out and let them hang from my shoulders and neck, forced to listen to myself.  The less desirable sound to wallow in the darkness with, I sob, gulp down air and sound like I am laughing, silently.  A hand presses to my chest and fingers claw at where my heart should be, where the emptiness is instead.  That hollowness that I try to dig into; ripping open my shirt and clawing at my chest desperately, like a dog trying to dig up a bone, my nails tear at my flesh, cutting small lines and incisions into the skin.  The blood is little relief to the agony that overwhelms my physical being, the numb, sharp throb of a migraine behind my chest.


“Why?”  I scream at the top of my breathless lungs, howling into the night.


Nobody is listening, nobody is there.  She is gone, she is fucking another man.  Any other man but me.  I am lost and helpless, a stray dog, unable to find his bone and lacking any reason to exist, sitting down an alley, cold, dirty and dying, slowly.  It is odd, to hope that someone might take me in, nurture me and care for me like someone would a stray and desperate animal, but aren’t we all just animals in the end?  Is it wrong to hope someone can come and help take away my torment, my agony?


Why fall in love.
It is a pointless thing,
often one sided and cruel.
Don’t ever love.
Never be a victim, or prey
to this beast of merciless burdens,
that weighs heavy on the heart,
on the mind, not only love
so too justice is blind,
there is no law for love.
No punishment, though deserved.

We are unfairly tortured.
Loved, lost, left behind
to cry and grasp our hearts
we hold in our hands;
freshly ripped out.
Love is a selfish creature,
a bacteria, a virus
infecting us like a plague,
a Black Death illness
to our spoiled, rotting hearts.
Never fall in love.


I met the girl of my dreams
who says it wasn’t meant to be,
why can’t she understand
how much she means to me.
I know that life’s unfair
and the truth hurts too much,
Although I love her so
I mean nothing, nothing at all.

And to add to my pain
she can be with anyone but me,
So many others she desires
leaving me the only un-admired
in her eyes, feeling sorry for me
without the right to –
Because, doesn’t she know
that she is the cause?

If this is obsession
then just let it be…
I truly can’t help how I feel,
I can’t stop the beating
the feeling of sickness
and dry mouth, uncertain
of you or your plans,
You can be despicable.

Every day I am in battle.
Waging war on the oceans
of my love dazed mind,
Trying to imprison my hope
and chain it deep down
in my heart, to stop
And just – stop, please
stop torturing me.

But I shall never win this war.
My pleading for peace
fallen on deafened corpses,
The price to pay too much
for hope and yearning to fade
away to nothing, no more.
I am not a shallow man,
When I fall, I fall too hard.

A Time for Loath (Anti-Valentines Poem)

You’ve missed your mark so many times

and made mockery of our pin-cushion hearts,

So many arrows filled with your lies

your cupids promise is bitter, and dark.


How much despised, that Valentine kiss

that teases all forced voyeurs to watch,

And all these couples just take the piss

ignorant to the matches cupid’s botched.


Just tie the noose and let them swing

those twisted bastard cherubs,

Their depraved games leave a sting

with rose-thorn romance methods.


Be gone you vile valentines

and burn with heart’s desire,

Only ashes shall be mine

a solitude admired.


Though fought with discourse

the cupid begs for their survival,

But those of us sick of the farce

will no-longer linger in denial.


The stage is set, the gallows built

awaiting the guest of honour,

Come now cupid, wracked with guilt

You know that you’re a goner.