Poem: Virginal

Blistering loss, sobering realisations, the white sterility of the bone which protrudes from the skin. She gets on top riding his cock Death grows Death consumes Death ruminates Sex Sex Sex A wounded body Chewed out lust Vile pain Scratch marks galore. She grinds like a convulsing junkie A drop of blood is drawn as … Continue reading Poem: Virginal

If you’re going to sit on my face, I may as well just be your man

Violence in the streets, degradation in the sheets. "Mr. Brizell get a bloody hold of yourself. This soul of yours is in ruins. There's talk of your sickening behaviour, unrepentant sefishness and wild romancing. We want your head" My sunglasses are askew and I've misplaced my heart down a grimy alley. All in all the … Continue reading If you’re going to sit on my face, I may as well just be your man


The scene has been set The curtains have been drawn Here we are: yet another generation shipwrecked upon the worst of times. Fucks sake that sounds far too cliche. It appears like every other nihilistic introduction. Yes, yes we all know we’re fucked, but we never quite manage to capture the panache of existing alongside … Continue reading Perineum

To play the part

Slaughtered souls; the immolated masses pour forth from the carnal abyss, Stripped, abused bodies, cascading forth bringing their tragedy into the clinical hell of illusion. Here we are looking inwards. The world coalesces in spiteful furore. I've checked out of the hotel and settled in at the therapists. 'Oh Mr. Brizell, that girl with the … Continue reading To play the part