That green eyes monster strikes again(rather dramatically)

Jealousy rots me.
It stinks and burns into my throat.
Lays in my gut like raw,undercooked chicken.
I didn't have to,didn't want to know everything.
Tact.
and yes,we are all guilty of dropping the unnecessary at the beginning.
The creeping truth,
the past.
Haunting us,
mocking,especially when we are most tired and run down.
Slithering up my windpipe.
Sinking barbs into my esophagus.
And all those that came before,
all that lay with you,
taking with them notches of the heart that i will take as mine.
Let the frigid hand of death
steal you in the night.

Elbows,part 2

If it aint elbows
then it's their fuckin legs.
What is it with you people?
Do your bollox not fit between your thighs?
Stop invading my space
and fuck off back to the gym.
I wouldn't piss on you
if you were on
fire.

Childhood

I think of childhood.
It was OK
but a load of shit compared to life now.
Childhood.
Spicey curry Pot noodles,
fresh cream chocolate eclairs from Portland Rd bakers (South Norwood),
the one legged man in the swimming pool.
Scared,
too revolted to share the same water.
Porn mags.
Guilt from as long as i can remember.
The sun,
hazey,
through curtains into a darkened room.
On a hospital bed.
Bone dry mouth from the pink liquid i had to drink.
Faces above to take from my body.
My foreskin,
my tonsils,
my adenoids.
To prick my ear drums 4 times with grommits.
The discovery of them months later on my pillow.
My mutilated childs willy,
soaking the scabs off in the bath.
My friends,
Nitin Patel(chilli powder on pop corn),
Peter Hart(poor family,a bag of sweets for Christmas.His drunk dad taking his belt to him).
Childhood.
Shitting my pants on the reading mat at school.
Too scared to ask for the toilet.
Claudet,
fat Jamaican Claudet and her posse of little white bitchs
pushing the door open on me when i did actually use the fuckin toilet.
Childhood.
Laying in bed with my mum.
Listing all the animals i'd seen at London Zoo.
Childhood.
It's a start i suppose.
x

Poems on the underground

Poems on the underground.
Bland,
mundane,
Confusing.
For the the bleary eyed,now belittled,to contemplate and dismiss as awful crap.
Throw away shit coz that's what they really are.
Deigned to divide again the educated from the working classes.
A secret code as to say,
"Hark,look at this patronizing bilge Charlie,those poor fuckers haven't a clue".