I'm going home, I've done my time.

I remember when I was wee, I used to sit in my dad's car and watch him drive so I'd pass my test first time. No lessons it's all in the eyes. In the end I couldn't be arsed. Upside is I can get drunk. Downside is I take the bus.

Fat semi downs face three weans, one whopper of a pram flings her phone across the bus and weeps. A decent person would intervene. Instead I watch it like any other soap. I never really believed that other people have feelings or at least the same feelings I do. I expect she only cries because she can't find the words.

The inevitable farting contest up the back. Average age 19. They talk about pumpin lassies. One lassie is a 'fuckin donkey' but one doesn't look at the fireplace. Her party piece is shitting the bed. One lad kept going, the other punched fuck out her, the rest fuck her when they're desperate. Who is she? I've never shat the bed so I know it isn't me but do people talk about me like that. Like I'm a repulsive mass of dead nerves, fine for fucking in a drought and little else.


Sometimes I wish I could slaughter that flatulent 'back of the bus'. In fact I wish I could all the time. Something quick and sudden. I'd love to see the look of shock on their faces as they die in the most unlikely of massacres. Years ago I would have wanted to reason with them but I'm tired. I'm always tired. My grannie had rickets, her sisters had smallpox, my mother caught a cold and I caught the bad head gene and an unquenchable desire for sleep.


Two African women to the right. They look like statues. It's not their colour that makes them look out of place. They're clean, quiet and proud looking. The style on the 41 is tired, pasty, dumpy and full of rage with no obvious target. Do try to keep up. Mind you I'll bet they're stenchers like the rest of us. Everyone is a disappointment.

The inevitable pensioners. 'Ye wouldnae wear red tae a funeral'. Well I would but I don't but in. I want off this bus before the 22nd century. 'Ye wid wear the darkest jaiket te huv', 'aye darkest jaiket'. I'd wear the skin of a dead grannie, I think.

Fight with the driver. 'ye dae go tae the Forge'. 'Aye hen only if the bus goes backwards.

That's my cue. Off to wet feet, possible trenchfoot, blisters and French fancies for tea. Just get this shite out of my head. Too much.

This Is Not My Desire

Repent in hell fat boy. Daddy got you with the butchers knife right across your white slug neck. Wish I'd been there. Snatch pants for red on grey.

Fucking on the sill of floor 19. I should have known an odd number can't bode well. Your Friendly Butcher. My hostile cunt. We'll keep the jam rag flying. You are the son of bloody Pollok scum. Fear of heights is a terrible thing. More so when then it outweighs the fear of violation and dishonour. I still breathe. You can't fat fucking son of the scheme hoor.

Taking a doing is never easy. He bought me a tab and sent me mad with unwanted fucks and bad hippy music. I am the lizard king but I'm broken and can't do anything. Them was rotten days and he made me rot black like damp beast ridden wood.

Unpacking The Heart.

Sleep, the night, the knife didn't take me, so I unpack. The books, the information and lastly the case of evidence. Three of Brian's bland blonde pit hairs. I never got near enough for pubes. Smiddy's chewing gum, Kim's rail tickets now there was a boy who could lose his head when all around him stayed sane.

Davie's demo, Larry's essay, Jaf's contempt stays in my head. These arent notches on my bed post they're scars. The night Jose fucked Laura on my bed I slept on the floor and scarred the titties with a Bic. Only scratching the surface. That's it with the self harm game. You never get deep enough to cut out the cancer, or if you do you die. Not that I wanted him, I just didn't want her to have him. What can I say I was alone dumped and bitter.

My heart never broke, it iced over. Remove from it the carnage and throw it to safety like a brides bouquet hitting concrete. Run away, if only I could. Let it shatter and rain down into you all and poison your fish. Sixteen pages from Emma Christie's diary. Jennifer is ugly, Jennifer is a slag, Jennifer eats with her hands, Jennifer is trash, Jennifer is a benson, Jennifer is a psycho. She makes me look good, that's why I allow her to speak to me. Sixteen hairs from a dead whores cunt. I stick them to my chest and make the bitch call me Martin.

Ha fuck you big beak fucked three of your men and gave your dad a KB. Did you really imagine Beryl was his only go at adultery? Fuck Face. Big Beak. Fat Arms. Fat Arse. Uh huh. I am the Elvis of slags.

Andy got the bloody sheet. Except I never bled so we did it again to make sure I was really broken. I could have mentioned that I broke my own hymen ages ago but I didn't want to spoil the mood. In any case butcher boy raped and pillaged between our fucks. The right wall of my cunt still burns when I'm angry and I'm fucking raging all the time.

Lawerence's skull cap (nicked) -look it was anthropology OK. Beside I dress up as a Jewish boy in private and masturbate to the collected speeches of Chairwoman Mae West. If you believe that you'll believe that I communicate with Al Jolson via email. Look he was a bet.

Lt Gavin's gun. Ha my arse he offered me a union flag but I asked for a gun. I pissed on it and he chucked me. I never was an army wife and in any case I didn't know it was from Goose Green. It said 'Made in Taiwan on the label.

Jamie can't come to the phone, he's in the garden with his father. So out of my league there. Not to mention bored.

I won't have a word spoken against Scott. What he lacked in dick, he had in balls. Didn't stop him stamping me into the dirty, bloody ground. Craig was an expensive rent boy with a lean but useful cock and sod all between his ears. The other Craig was better. Kian is the king of oral and if you can't see your name here it was the drink but the drunk driving boy with the tea towel is the best fuck in the world.

Louise served her purpose, broke down and died.

I think it was Professor Benatar that said love is a battlefield.

I am the general.