Why do you patronise my friend?
He’s above you in every way.

You don’t need to sympathise,
I can feel sorry for myself.

You will try to understand,
but I can understand you
more than you will ever know.



In racing red.
His free white spirit flows.
Bearing gift-wrapped promises of happiness.
Offering greed and gluttony.
Temping us to believe in him,
buying in to him,
sell our souls to him.
Deception into false belief.
He has horns.

The Devil.

Growing Up

So that’s the way it is.
Take my blood,
I’m happy to give,
in the festive colour.
Smear and smudge it.
Paint your feelings with it.
I don’t care anymore.
I don’t need the questions.
I don’t want the answers.
I never understand them anyway.


Dunno what I’m doing.
Who I’m killing.
I can’t see them
and don’t know their name,
they could be my friend.
I don’t know what it’s for,
I do not know.
But I know I have to do it.

What’s the Point?

Sometimes I wonder
about stuff.
It makes me think,
and I think.
I know I’m wrong
a lot a of the time.
I want to spend time with you
I know I should.
Instead of sitting cocooned
with keyboard and mouse.
Doesn’t make any difference
whatever I do.