Confessions of a Poet By Paul England

This is my confession this is how I feel mother loved me last I'm just being real when brother left this life that shit killed me too I need nor want your pity I'm just being true come now fucking kill me come take away my pain cos I'm waking in the dark feeling so insane for every sin I've done shit, I've paid up twice I don't deny I'm cold but God's like fucking ice I'm a product of the streets that left me feeling lost feeling like I'm Jesus when they left him crossed so I'm the fucking devil to this I may confess but mother tell me this why do you love me less

Copyright ©2008  Paul England

Comments System Prototype Version 1.0 by Mo

Poetry - Bookshop Millie By Mike Watts

I've forgotten my glasses So this place is pointless, But I'm hanging around Because there's this girl, 'Millie' Who works the till And we're spending her 'half day' together. Read more...

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	Although he really wasn't Everybody's cup of tea He was a great comic And he was very funny. He made fun of everyone And of society's flaws He was arrested for it Read more...

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Her hair draped gently Across my pounding chest Her hands grasping mine Bodies entwined Rhythmic and timely Our passion alight Ecstasy, fantasy,    Read more...

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Poetry - All Around My Hat By Andrea Longstaff

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Poetry - 30 Seconds Later By Mike Watts
	I met fear today A ball-shrinking ordeal Of dark confrontation Blocking my way: A street predator Six foot of cold blood, An unmuzzled Dog-faced bastard Read more...

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We remain unsolved like a su-doku on the back of a paper on a table in a café, that someone started but neglected to finish, and now    Read more...

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These days it is not enough to cross or strike the wrong number away No. The pen must dig and scratch like the    Read more...

Poetry - The Coward By Laurenceaux

The coward couldn't tell the truth the coward could only lie. The coward deceived and tricked, the coward    Read more...

Poetry - Sell-Up or Sell-Out? By Andrew Wastling .

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Sitting in the box called work a screen flickers as if unsure of its mode and I observe discompassionatly. We talk in jumbled mnemonics and jargonese, but not a word is spoken.    Read more...

Poetry - Crime Scene By Mike Watts
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	When I drink whisky my mind starts to melt I've been thinking about the hand I've been dealt Everyone lies if you look in their eyes And life doesn't begin at forty She was naked apart from the clothes that she wore Nothing makes sense to me any more Read more...

Poetry - After I was widowed By Manuro

	Parking permits make me cluck Barking hermits fake me duck Larking termites rake me muck Refer to Eric by his surname Defer to Derek, my he's urbane Prepared a Dalek not a turbine Read more...

Poetry - Are You Me? By Laurenceaux

Are You Me? Raft alone at sea are you me? Do you nurture souls or are you empty. Do you offer hope or failure are you bright for all to see,    Read more...

Poetry - Not Quite So White By Amanda Lowe

	Snow-White, her pretty name was tinged with a mocking tone of irony For men would frolic in her minge, she pulled them like a siren, she Had the kennel boy do her doggy fashion, the groom shagged in the stable And the cook she fucked with a spicy passion, on the banqueting table. Read more...