C’est ne pas merde

“Throw enough shit at the wall

and something will stick.”


But now I’ve got a bedroom wall

that’s covered in human shit!


What do I do with this wall,

painted in horrid turd?


Frame it? Send it to the Loovre?

Title it ‘c’est ne pas merde’


Become a scatological Tracey Emin

With a wall covered in crap


Win the Turder Prize

Where do you go from that?


What other vulgar excrement

can I say is art?


Bottle up bodily gases

and call it Abstract Fart?


Piss on Whistler’s Mother,

claim it belongs to me?


Vomit in the Tate Modern

charge for the luxury


of seeing me spew projectiles

in the main gallery?


Spunk on the Mona Lisa

rename myself as Wanksy?


Maybe I shouldn’t throw feces

at the shitting wall


and instead write poems about phrases

that make no sense at all


I’ll wrap this poem up now

I’m sure you’ve had enough of it


and let’s be quite honest

it was a wall’s worth of (piss, puke, spunk and) shit



We’ve been told to turn away

from our gifts

We apply the tourniquet

to our souls

Life’s now a tournament.

What we were

torn and bent.

Stuck on repeat

broken record

We all get more

broke and poor

We’re all now

bored and paused

Awaiting orders

born a pawn.

Little more

than game pieces

No time for peace

in this piece of time

Can’t keep up with

the Team’s pace

we all race

to the tomb

Want to return

to the womb

we try to

honestly view the room

but we’ve had

our views skewed

by bullshit bluster

and fake fake fake news

we face views

old and new

false and true

about me and you

But, we’re all

being humans

trying to be

humane beings

in amongst

profane scenes

Living out

propane dreams


up our minds


of fractured mining

of past

and self

Left with

broken mental health


in a shared dream


to an isolated nightmare

we feel

the end of history


the unfurling mystery

We had the key to heaven’s door

traversing beams that used to be floor

what once was light is dark

we see and end, but not a start

The Gods in our heads

became scabs

Nothing machines

broken, dead sky dads

Decaying into hate

dreaming all the same


blood, fear, pain

I wish the lie would stop

the pig pen no longer cares

infecting sucking dry

kill you with their disease

copying their hurt

we die in silence

into the void

oblivion of silence

but the door is still here

if you look

readjust the narrative

and give a fuck

the other world

is bleeding through

it needs a vessel

that could be you

Be the God

your holy book needs

make sure you bite

the hand that feeds

liberate yourself

set your own standards

be your own deity

be your own master

5 years

“Where do you see yourself in the next five years?”

I’d like to still be alive, without fear.

Not asking for things to no longer be frightening

Just not have fear strike like lightning


I want to experience with the universe without shaking, anxious silence

I want to regard the world, as is, without self-blame or self-violence

Without abusing myself, to make up for a lack of control

To self-actualise, self-direct and decide my own role


To be defined by me and what I know I need

Not shaped by the wants of others, upon my soul they feed

To be the character of my own narrative

The protagonist, not extra or additive


I’d like to accept my Nihilism, and use it as a tool

Make the space to not give a fuck, embrace being a fool

Not let my life become tainted by shame

Stop being taken for a ride, played like a game


To be honest and authentic with everyone I meet

To not hide behind anxiety, it’s no mean feat


But, this is just a wishlist. Things will go as they will

Regardless of what happens, I’ll strive to kill

Things will change, as will I, in many ways

I’ll do my best, face what comes, still attempt to slay

Face all comers, dangers and possibilities

Which will test me, you, us all into infinity


I hope that we can face our flaws and stay true

cos what scares me the most, is a scared and frightened you




I can be a boring bastard

So I dig myself a hole

submerge myself in the dirt

let inertia take its toll


Leave me semi-buried

in the dirt, in the garden

I’ll spin in place

boring ever further


Disappear into the crust

My life is just a drill

I bore down into the core

and the hole above me fills


I land on the amber ball

at the center of the earth

and melt into it’s heat

and infect it with my curse


The world becomes unenthused

same old, nothing new

nothing new ever happens

nothing new, nothing new

Crossed Keys

Cigarette burns

on my lungs

shriveled liver

my pallet is messy

with fermented fruit

back in that place that had no culture

a carrion town, eating life, a vulture

Built around a past-facing sepulchure

Stuck in itself, kneeling before intertia

But this is a new future

I rectify my youth

Devils were slated by time

Same place, different space

We know the symptoms of our illnesses

our town bearing bad fruit

Tenements became testaments

Burning bushes seem quaint

The voices strained

Awareness Rising High

1st class Party Poopers

The traces of the tracks through Thatcher-town

Political discourse is not hopeless

We’re not helpless

Come together and beat all

the Nazis, Tories,

Nasty, selfish fuckers

Help each other

Hope again

Burn bright with luminescence

Write our testaments

Grow new possibilities

and brew our own medicine


Lay me to rest

in the bed of a river

my heaviness

will to sink to the dirt

my weight

displaces the earth

Fish pick me apart

my skin fades

my flesh a meal

my bones



I go farther

than I have ever been

once I stop being

that which is me

once my trappings



We call out

in unison

I am free

I am more alive

than I have ever been

because I am less me

more we

I am circuitry

in a motherboard

soldering on

through pained existence

glowing life

like stained glass

I was born from death

of cosmic size

I will die a birth

with global ties

I, we, you

are all infinite

this finitude

is but a step

along an eternal journey

of galactic burn out

and rebirth

the cycle continues

with out me

the wheel spins

regardless of attention

this fractal

doesn’t need my awareness

and that makes us free

Volatile Liquid

Percentages proposed by solution

Honest emotions in destitution

Replaced by bubbles in hazy mind

By my drinking, I’m defined

Chipping away all semblance of self

Replacing my sense of mental health

With false memory, half remembered dreams

My likeable self comes apart at the seams

And an ill man is left to pick up the pieces

from in between by broken brain’s creases

of what ass I was last night

and why I don’t feel alright

Same routine, so obviously boring

Drink to oblivion, pass out snoring

I’m not the tonic, I’m the gin

and I’m letting all the bad spirits in

Making you shake

Leave you in shock

Until you need

an urgent detox