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Dara Slick
22/F/Savannah    My place, with whiskey, is the place to be.

Poems

Harriet Cleve Sep 2019
Slick Brick Mandini, half Irish -half Italian, was raised in the Dublin slums. Around the corner from Henrietta Street, Europes biggest slum, was the Italian quarter of Smithfield.

Slick Brick knew every stone and alley, every hawker and scumbag, every dark street in the North side of the fair city.

A tall, good looking man with a penchant for riding street horses late at night. Many the harmless vagrant were run over and trampled to death as Slick galloped his piebald down North King street into the early hours. He could turn that horse on a sixpence, with the deft assurance one would normally attribute that skill to an Apache or Commanche warrior from North America.

North America would beckon one day but for now it was the mean streets of Dublin that tried to contain him.

Everyone knew he had a brain and could recite his Shakespeare as well as the Bard himself. In his own mind he was a MacDuff ready to take on the Macbeths and weird sisters of life.

An incident in secondary school which he evaded suspicion of set him on the road to criminality.

Brother Lugnaciois was patrolling the school corridors that fateful day. 'The Lug' as the schoolboys called him behind his back was a vicious *******. A Christian Brother with a passion for violence and intimidation. His leather strap hung from his swaggering hips like a gunslinger from the Old West and many's the hand he welted with pure savagery. Lug's favourite torment though was to pull a young school lads locks and lift them up off the ground in one horror filled moment.

Slick had the misfortune to be returning from the school toilets and was confronted by Lug. For no reason other than the infliction of base terror Lug grabbed Slick by his locks and twisted his ears for good measures.

It was expected from Lug and retaliation meant sustained torment.
Slick pulled a flickknife from his waistband and slashed Lug under his left eye. It took a moment for Lug to realise what had happened.

Stunned at the emerging pain and gush of blood from his face, Lug went into a rage.

That was when Slick's fathers tutelage came to his mind.

'Always remember, Son, a swift kick to the lower nether regions will stop a racehorse'

And Lug became a racehorse in that very instance of thought.

He reared up to grab Slick by the throat when the kick landed to his nether regions.

First he went purple then green then a fury arouse on his countenance. With what must have been a testimony to the power to retain control in extreme pain Lug lunged at Slick for revenge.

Slick knew it was a life or death moment. He deliberately and calmly drew the knife across Lugs throat. Even that was not enough.

From his pocket he took out his pistol. A silencer had been fitted.

The horror with which Lug's eyes met Slick's was one of disbelief.

'You ***** toe rag!' Slick uttered and pulled the trigger.

Lug's head exploded in a spray of red death.

At all times Slick had retained his composure. He had opened the door to the underworld and eagerly walked through.

In time the world would come to know of the foul exploits of Slick Brick Mandini. Only a few close friends would ever know who murdered the ******* Lugs.

Slick would lie low for a while and it would be some time before Dublin was shook by another ******. This ****** would be the one that placed Slick Brick Mandini firmly in the gaze of the police.

For now Slick smoked a cigar of Cuban origin and felt proud of his efforts. He allowed himself a smile as he recalled Lug's terrified and confused countenance.

'You had it coming you *******' he thought as he held his war trophy.
The leather strap which would never again inflict pain on a schoolboys hand.
Nathan Young Jun 2014
So let me get this straight: you wish to be desired and get respect,
but hey, your personality is that of your looks that which reflects.
Yeah, and let me just further state:
I hope your future has one sick grim fate.

Slick *****, don't care.
No point tryin' repair.
Slick *****, don't care.
No point tryin' to repair.

because let's be honest: your *** deserves ******* nothing.
I can't believe I even fathomed at one point you were something.
Slug once said that he's the captain of a sinking ship
and now, I finally get it. I've got nothing left to lose
because at this point, I've already been used and abused.

Slick *****, don't care.
Pain is something I must bear
Slick *****, don't care.
Anger is something I must bear

You're ******* toxic. Nuclear waste to be exact
and as a matter of fact: **** the goody two shoes act.
We all realize that you're being fake
Now, just how long will this take?

Slick *****, don't care
I'll rise above you though, I swear.
Slick *****, don't care.
I'll rise above you though, I swear.

You may have stripped me down to a **** man,
doesn't matter for I still stand,
resilient and proud to prove your *** wrong
because I sing this song and I walk that walk
proving to myself that I am that strong.
So this was my first official attempt at writing a song. Enjoy, friends!