Poetry
Poetry by Natasha Jones
Weekend(s) Broke. Barely money to buy. “Bullshit. Borrow some.” Sorry mum. Bang. Beats HEAVY. Banter. “Break it.” Pill broken. Swallowed. Now to use the powder as a bomb. New text. “Bare eads ere. Don’t gurn.” Teeth gritted. Barrier. Skrillex. Skankin. Blood flowing, throat burning…. “Five quid for a double.” Fuck that. Everything’s a blur. Finally,…
Train of Thought by Steffan Jenkins
I realize trains are hateful things, commuters packed into mobile sardine tins. There are people who think reservations are vague, and some rundown chap who might have the plague. The screaming child is always sat next to you, and bugger me! Signal failure at Crewe! Back in first class, the banker who’s plastered and the…