My Guitar

I whack the strings of my guitar

So hard

That it may produce sound

If I beg it

Please let out music that people will like

Please make me a somebody

Please sound good

Maybe it will listen

I beat it so hard

That it’s irreparable

So, I go to town

And buy a new one



Embracing Madness

A fit of insanity

Spasms through my


It’s vigour fills me

My pupils widen

Blanketing my identity

Till I’m nothing but black

I smile so hard

My teeth fall out

My tongue dances along my gums

To the beat of my heart

Setting the rhythm

The bass of my soul


My mind sits back

And listens



A Tree’s passing

A tree once talked to me

Its branches wrapped me up

It took me

Up high into the leaves

It spoke to me

Through the whistles of the wind

Age-old tales

Of wise trees, noble trees

Villainous trees

Trees of love and


Much similar to our own pains

It let me down gently

I rev the chainsaw

And cut it down

The moaning of broken bark

Whistles in the wind



Mannequins Sell

A mannequin in the shop window

Turns to me

Holes appear where it’s eyes and mouth should be

Like big gaping wishing wells

It creaks it’s head to the right and strikes an elegant pose

“You’d look a lot better with this scarf on”

Another mannequin squats to its knees

Breaking the rigid plastic it was born into

It’s torso shattered along shop floor

The head rolls towards me

“These jeans would suit you”

In the changing room

Wearing the jeans

They really do suit me



The Sun Grew Jealous

She danced in the meadows

To the sound of spring

In the spotlight of the sun

A flowing white dress

Made from pure starlight


The bees hover near


The birds swoop in low

Stealing glances

Humans take glittering photographs

From all angles

Like a shimmering sea

The sun grew jealous

“Why does no one look at me. Why do they all look away. I want to be beautiful. I want to be adored.”

The sun turned up the lights


In the meadows

A black burnt out mark

Outlining a dress

If you look close enough you can still see

Starlight, sparkling in the night

The sun posing and flexing up ahead

Trying to catch everyones attention

Trying to be loved




The Man, the Field and the Porridge Oats.

I don’t know how we ended up in this place. My memory doesn’t allow me to remember. We walk up and down this field many times each day. Those that escape through the hedged borders of this field only return solemn faced. Never again meeting anothers eye. There is an electric power line running through the centre of the field. Standing tall and defiant. Outside of the man’s reach. Some try to climb to the top but they never come back down again. The clouds forbid us to see.

No matter how hard we try, we simply cannot talk to eachother. The words do not form in our mouths. It’s been so long since another has graced my ears with conversation. All we do is endlessly walk up and down this field for a reason I cannot fathom. Every week the man will come in a range rover through the gate and unload a mound of porridge oats. This is our excitement. I’m too hungry to question what’s in the porridge oats. We scramble over each other in a frenzied race to reach the pile. shoving as many handfuls of porridge oats down our throats as we can manage.

He will observe us for quite some time while we eat. Removing those that begin to form words with their mouths. Those that learn to stand upright from all fours. Those that begin to question the porridge oats. Those that are simply unhealthy, no longer providing whatever it is the man needs.

While I chew my porridge oats I look up to the powerline. The clouds have dispersed. I can see them clearly. I stand upright and gaze above me. I hear laughter and conversation. They’re forming words! The man in the range rover cannot reach them so they are happy. Yet they can’t eat. Soon they will have to come down and share the same fate all of us are bound to. I quickly fall down to all fours. Every day more and more join us.

I don’t know what will happen in the future.