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Brandon Conway Jun 2018
I sleep betwixt and
Between a coarse noose
and a shakey stool
Luke Apr 2017
There once was a man from Liverpool,
he once decided he needed a bigger tool,
so he went to the shop,
he was in a flop,
and accidently bought a new stool.
this is a sad story about a man I knew from Liverpool
R.I.P
Charles Smith Mar 2015
Farouche outline,
melting into the stool.
Slippery palms, flavoured beef and onion,
now it's 5 o'clock.

Hands turn.

Willing a pint to be half full, not half empty.
Slumped since 1978, timeless as the wallpaper.

Hands turn.

Mustard teeth to compliment his tongue.
Paralysed from his lifting elbow down.

Hands turn.

Jutting cigarette from blubber lips, burnt out.
Spitting in the ******, ritual, it's good luck.

Hands turn.

Lucky he's got time then,
Read behind bloodshot eyes.  
Ice in the cider, it'll last longer than him.

Hands turn.

An echo, I think it's a bell.  
You're out, he knows.

Hands turn.

Cold bites at the door, he huddles out.
A lighter lost, a bottle-top gained.
The wind taunts the black velvet sheet of white pin ******.

Hands stop.

JWS
Met someone in a pub, who looked happy beneath blood-shot eyes.
Amanda Wagg Aug 2014
It seemed inviting so I sat on the stool.
It made me uncomfortable the way he started to drool.
This place was a hole in the wall, a run-down that had started to fade,
a place where lovers and drunk heroes were made.

So I called to the bar keep and ordered a drink.
I'd take anything if it helps me not to think.
I downed my first and took a sigh.
I'd rather be anywhere else I'm not gunna lie.

The guy behind the bar clearly wanted to know,
and the anger inside was starting to grow.
"How about another?" said the bar keep.
"I know something that'll help you sleep."

I said "sure," and he passed me a shot.
I felt the bullet slide down. It helped a lot.
I decided that maybe this guy could understand.
I could feel my brain fall through the cracks like sand.

"Pass me another," I said with a frown.
"give me the hard stuff, don't let me down."
He came over and set it on the bar,
I felt the poison settle at the bottom of my stomach like tar.

He simply asked "How are you feeling?"
I could feel my eyes peeling.
"Not to good. I feel like ****,"
"my family hats me." I could see a cigarette being lit.

"Why'd they hate a nice guy like you?" he said with a smirk.
"maybe its the way I let my feelings lurk,"
"they lurk in the shadows full of anger and sadness."
"Maybe its to hide away all of my madness."

"Thats to bad." said the guy mixing my drink.
he set another toxin down before i could think.
"I didn't order this drink," I said a little confused.
"or did I?" I asked. I'm starting to feel a bit defused.

"Yes you did sir," he said with a smile.
"should i put it on your tab? will you be staying a while?"
"you can tell me more about your troubles."
"but if i keep drinking i'll start seeing doubles."

"don't worry about it, Ill get you a ride,"
"thank you," I said. "you'd be saving my hide."
"Then I'll have one or two more and call it quits,"
"I wont have too much, I want to keep my wits."

"so tell me more about the kids and wife,"
"is that truly what you wanted from life?"
"If they hate you so much, why do you put up with them?"
"Where does their hatred for you stem?"

"Is it what I wanted from life? Maybe not."
"Before our son, we just fought."
"now we do it when he's put and away,"
I don't want to keep fighting until I'm old and grey."

"Where did our wife start to misbehave?" I was unaware he refilled my glass.
I saw a guy outside smoking his grass.
I took the shot and thought about what he said.
"what do you mean 'misbehave'?" I felt as heavy as led.

"Well you know what I mean," said the guy.
"when she starts to cheat and lie."
"she doesn't think that you'll find out,"
"and when you accuse her she'll starts to pout."

"my wife doesn't cheat," I said confidently.
"she wouldn't dare do that to me."
"and why is that?" asked the bartender.
"what would you do if she didn't tell you the truth and surrender?"

"Well i'd-" I paused and pondered what I was about to say.
I wouldn't ever do that, even if our relationship has started to fray.
"I know what you're thinking and man is the bold,"
"but you do have your pride to uphold."

"Some relationship aren't that sweet,"
"some women are just meat,"
"they sleep around here and there,"
"then cry about how life isn't fair."

He set a drink and i took it right away.
I couldn't believe what I was about to say.
"If my wife cheated i'd teach her real good,"
"I'd hit her so much she'd be trying o hide her face with a hood."

The bartender just stared at my for a second and handed me a shot.
I was thinking about what the bar-keep had brought.
I've had six hard drinks and this would make seven.
I could feel myself getting farther and farther away from heaven.

I can't believe what I had just confessed.
I said I would hit my wife. With too much ***** I'm not at my best.
I'm not thinking about what I'm saying.
In my head the thing I just said keeps replaying.

The bartender spoke for the first time in what felt like forever.
"Some women need to be taught a lesson. what ever."
"sometimes it needs to be done,"
"they need to learn that there isn't anywhere to run."

" yeah you're right." I said without thinking.
Im blurting out words without even blinking.
I need to slow down on the drinks.
The bartender then replied, "Maybe you should go to your wife and work out the kinks."

"If she doesn't listen to you then do what you said and teach her a lesson,"
"you need to do it now before she grows in aggression."
"Maybe you should teach your son a lesson too,"
"beat him as well and show him why his anger grew."

"You should go now before your wife cheats again,"
"and before your son steals, so until next time then."
He gave me one last shot and said it was all on him.
I looked around and saw nobody in the bar. It looked rather grim.

I got up and headed for the door.
I stumbled a little. I felt pretty sore.
I saw a girl walk in and sit on my chair.
She started talking to the bartender about how her husband beats her and that life isn't fair.

Like the bar-keep said, he had gotten me a ride.
I wasn't driving so being drunk I didn't have to hide.
He clearly knew that I had been drinking from the way I was slurring.
I was having some trouble seeing. my vision was blurring.

The driver took me home in a rush.
My insides started to feel like mush.
I paid the guy and walked up to the house front.
I unlocked to main door with a grunt.

The door swung open and I stumbled inside.
I slammed the door closed with the strength that I applied.
I will never allow any sort of defiance.
There was a woman's scream and then only silence.
In one bright, rainless, warm, non-sombre and cloudless morning of April 2014,
Skirmishes began at ten in the morning, among the roaming street children
As if they were only playing hopscotch among themselves, and their mates,
It was an unfolding in the dust filled non tarmacked streets of Lodwar town,
Town located in the savannah desert belt of north western Kenya,
A non local police man who was on patrol shot dead a rioting local,
A hungry local had attempted to ****** a shot-gun from the policeman,
He shot him twice in the head, scattering whitish brain tissues all over,
He shot another local sympathizer of the riot in the leg, in the heel,
The remaining riff-raff of rioting locals took off on their heels, like rats,
Once picturized in the word-smithing power of James Herbert,
The hoards of local rioters, most of them motorbike riders, rushed back,
To their places of abode, known as Manyatta,
                                                  or poor hamlets, more sorriest than ghettos,
They pulled out their fellow manyatta dwellers
For military reinforcement
They came back in throngs
All armed with rusty guns
Swearing to **** all
By the brute guns,
All the non locals
Not from their tribe.


They rampaged a whole town
Mercilessly looting and plundering
Each and every shop, business vessel, all outlets
Of the non-locals, all the migrants; black and white,
Chinese and Arabs, Indians and Somalis, Just but to mention,
They looted while singing tribal war songs, shooting all the non locals
Identified by differences in outfits; especially loincloths, Ekijolong, etc
They shot non local women, children and vandalized their trade wares
Those with guns holding the police station hostage, those without guns looting shops
Some tried ******, but their uncircumcised ***** proved a snag in this satanic venture
With a sardonic remorse they stopped the terror of **** against womenfolk of non natives
Women folk of non local ethnicity, but still not safe as shooting followed without ruth,
Puncturing the *******, ****** and bladders, spilling and splashing blood on each gunshot,
Human wailing, crying, hysterical running, farting, falling, and brute of the gun’s cannon
Gripped the town in a flower of curling dark smoke from burning tires,
Gunmen walked from door to door in a feat of amok anger,
Asking names of each person on their way
To decipher out the tribe or the clan
Lest they mayhem a native son
Instead of the non- local
Which they are bound to ****
By dutifully releasing
Deathly bullets
Into the head
Of emoit.

— The End —