Friday, 21 May 2010


My Girlfriend sits at the bottom of the stairs. Her red eyes spill out tears as she sobs on the phone to her Mother 'I can't take anymore of it Mum - I want to come home'

I stare at the broken, smashed bedroom door. An obscene metaphor reflecting the inside of my mind. Blood trickles between my knuckles; Split almost to the bone from pounding the heavy wood.

Back at Mum and Dads now. Mum is a crumpled heap on the floor her body racked with inner pain. She cries out to Dad 'What's wrong with him? What did they do over there?' I sit staring at the wall in the room I grew up in as a child. Where I played war and broke toy soldiers.

I'm so very tired, but the dead wont let me sleep. Alchohol numbs the daylight memories - but at night they creep into my room and then my dreams. Their twisted bodies clamber over me. The rotting teenage bodies fumble with their insides. Trying to push them back in.

The burning soldier screams in silence. His flesh falls away and his bones bubble as he claws at the flames. A pair of legs try to stand. They stagger around like a new born giraffe before collapsing into a heap.

A young man sits silently rocking back and forth - I tap his shoulder and he spins around. His face has gone, just teeth and splintered bone remain. I try to scream but it wont come.

Death is so very close. One pull of the blade and some pain... Then nothing. But I can't. I can hear Mum crying. I walk past her in silence. The pubs have opened again...