The Hooker

A dark and busy town at night, 

A hooker stands by the street light. 

A child at home alone in bed,

Can’t tell when last he was fed. 
A hooded man, a flash of grey, 

One swift movement, a fine red spray. 

No money, all in vain,

A child in bed, alone in pain 

The materials that we long for,

The children with their bloodied coats,

Their shadows that we ignore.
Choose this life despite the pain,

And all the alcohol soaked stains. 

Tomorrow’s just another day 

The Addict

Sitting by the bedside table,

A light shines upon the pages

He writes words, barely able,

He talks about his cages.

He’s being dramatic,

He’s still at it,

Screaming with his pen,

This boy, barely ten.

He sits addicted to the words he writes,

Like an escape late in the night,

He longs for the coffin case,

The feel of deaths warm embrace.

The Nymph

She sits on her rock,
I watch from below.
Her hair, brown locks,
Swept over her naked shoulder.

Entranced I can’t break free,
For her smile is captivating.
She knows not what she does
To me and I and mine.

This nymph teases,
I sweat through,
The pain never eases,
For its only ever been you.


Laying upon my red bed at night, recalling,
Those memories, of the hours just gone.
Standing back a far, so as she cannot see, I hear
her laughter cuts through me like a knife.

I will never again cause her to laugh so,
Or to cry, or ache, as I do so, but maybe,
Sometime in the future near,
I will once again, hold closely, my dear.