27 July 2013




I made a cunt of myself

For no real reason

That spike through my heart

The faulty adrenal gland

Sending acidic transmissions

Through my mind and body

I could tear my skin off, Fuck!

I spiralled on terrible trajectories

Like that moth in the bathroom

On its fatal last flight

An elongated spasm racked

And viciously surged

The reckless head load of poison

Acrid in my mouth

My words have cancer

Cutting words, killing words

No balance attenuated

Or room for reason

All passive strategy

Lies in wait for the unwary

Then pounces ferocious

Into the maelstrom, Fuck you!

And Fuck you too

I’ll smash your face in

Eat your entrails for breakfast

Tear the stars from their sockets

And grind them to dust

Don’t come in

I did something nasty

I damaged my being

With psychotic clubs



  1. Wow! You know, we hear the word bipolar and we think we understand. I didn't; I wasn't even close. This is an incredible piece of prose poetry that makes the reader feel, truly feel, what it might be like.

    1. I try to convey the emotions - they can be overwhelming - but I try. I'm glad you appreciate my meagre efforts - painting with emotions is like knitting with water.