Posted in poetry

the skinhead

a skinhead.
void of any future.
wrapped within his streetwise ways….
he walks these streets…
he stalks these streets…
he fucks these streets….

Born without myth
a vague and empty soulless self….
eloquent in obscenities… profanities
a creature of hate…
awaiting his violent fate…
a skinhead… gutter bound
a crimson river flowing from his head….
he is not smiling
a silent scream masks his face…
as he lays shrouded
in his own puke…&  piss …& shit…
A no good…no hope…

fated… hated… skinhead.


I have a keen interest in The Arts as therapy, and as a fundamental tool for understanding, and managing mental health. I love nature, reading, writing, poetry, photography, movies, painting, dance and yoga. And have a keen interest in social issues & humanities.

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