Ship-Shaped and Bristol Fashioned

A House Of Lords Whip let’s his tongue run freely after a half bottle of Brothel Bar Brandy

I am a complete and utter Bastard!
Evil and Wicked
never quite sum-up my behaviour
and stinking, rotten deeds,
but they are often mentioned
in the very same breath
as my notoriously, black name.
I, myself, wouldn’t want to meet me
down a well-lit alley late at night
never mind a dark one.
If Hell actually exists,
Then I am not just going there,
I belong there,
the place was invented for my sick ilk.
Yet, after all that is said and done,
the first Sunday of each new month,
I put the ‘Sadist’ in me aside…
and after four short hours in Madam
‘Do Exactly As You’re Told, Worm’
Harriet’s Dungeon for Scum-Suckers.
Getting shat, spat and pissed upon,
in between the
‘You’ve Broken My Nail, Maggot’
beatings and humiliations.
I once more emerge, pavement-top,
with my despicable conscience
as clean as the proverbial ‘Whistle’.
It’s better than ‘Repentance’
or ‘Confession’ (I would imagine?)
… and I am once more,
energy-charged-up to degrade myself,
and everyone around me, mercilessly.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.