Fluffy The Cat

I challenged Clare from Creative Writing group to write me a Skrew and I would do her a poem about a cat. This is the nicest you will get from me I guess.....

Fluffy

Clare's neighbours friend had a funny and fat, smelly hairy cat,
It was furry n called Fluffy and it liked lying on it's back.
It liked to roll around in the mud and chase the odd scared rat,
But could never understand why it was always forced to sit on a mat.
It's owner would scream at Fluffy, it was always shouting and yell,
Not that Fluffy covered in mud n poo, could ever really tell.
Whenever she came indoors covered in her stinky smell,
Her owners mouth moved up and down so fast but Fluffy loved that outside garden smell.
It loved to play outside rolling around in the grass and the dirt and weeds,
Chasing things in the air that only special cats could only ever see.
Her owner thought Fluffy was mad as she watched her climb her precious trees,
Then she would come in and spread the newly cleaned home, with all her fleas.
One day the owner got so mad due to the cat ruining her pristine home,
She'd spent all day cleaning it ridding it of cat mess wherever Fluffy would roam,
So she rang up the RSPC and complained Fluffy had infectious mad cat syndrome.
She could handle Fluffy no more, she'd ruined 2 many packs of fresh flea combs.
So one day some men in white turned up as Fluffy was playing in the garden,
Fluffy was so scared she looked and begged at her owner for a pardon.
But her owner had enough of her high jinx, and her will just hardened.
Fluffy was led away, a criminal cat, but she had one more piss on the rose garden.
It was not Fluffy's fault that she was born a fat fun filled smelly garden cat.
And it was so sad that her owner couldn't just see through that.
Fluffy was led off to an RSPCA jail in a cage, with just a single mat.
There was no grass with mud n poo to play in, and Fluffy really hated that.

© 2021 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

3....

The doxs tell me I might only hv 3 months to live.

That means 3 peeps have got less time to give.

I got a murder list 1, 2, 3.

If u ain't on it ur lucky to breathe.

Dog shit on a chiv is a chemical weapon 2 me.

The 1st fat cunt is going to suffer to breathe.

Stolen cars n head bandanas is all he will see.

Next thing he knows he'll be bleeding out on my knee.

Next MoFo is going to be cut to bits.

Might even have a shooter n blow him to shit.

I'm going to make him suffer for batting my blitz.

N going to see the pupils in his eyes shrink to nitz.

Next MoFo is the one that got away.

Tried paying ppl to set him up but he ran that pay.

Might be a Pikie but he's going only one way.

N wen I see his corpse it will be a happier day.

Don't think I'm a cunt coz I got a 3 long list.

Used to have a sheet that took the piss.

Ex bosses, wankers n coworker tits.

There lucky I forgave em n there off my list.

If I got 3 months on earth then this is my job to be.

N if u see me caught I'll wave 2 u on court TV.

Just be thankful that the list is only 3.

Coz if I get mad about dying I'm going to expand that tree.

 

© 2021 Murder Skrew HMP Frimley 2021

The Fall Of Kabul

The fall of Kabul, was not as mighty as my fall.

3am head bashing the sink, didn't know, skull was on show.

Woke up on the bathroom floor, not too unusual though.

Til I got to the docs, n the nurses all crowed.

Ambulance trip to Hoz, n apparently another collapse.

Wake up to find 2 Dox, putting stitches in my bonce n laughed.

Got green bruised chest, n cuts on my neck n calves.

N then a trippy freak out op, up in hospital lofts n rafts.

Walked past a doc smoking, said he'd be cutting me up.

Walk into a loft like room, with not a sink or a cup.

Tripping my tits off, on multi meds n fucked.

To see 20 ppl all smiling at me, n some wishing me luck.

Lines in my neck, n about 40 new pin holes.

Lines n tubes, coming out of orifices painful to use.

Bin bags in my thighs, with chunks cut off like abuse.

N I got no idea, if my leg will be of any future use.

Then I was in a wonder world, of Frimley Park unseen.

I swear my op was done in a bat attic, by a top Doc A team.

Was in the ICU, Emergency D, n rooms I've never seen.

Spent 4 days in a basement, full on ACID beam.

Swear they were experimenting with me, mixing up my meds.

Taking me off benzos, then fucking with my head.

Clonidine makes a minute, seem like an hour brain shred.

All the time your stuck lying, flat in your bed.

Finally get on a ward, with ppl ok to be.

But half of them, only got a leg cut from the knee.

If I'm losing a peg, it will be from the thigh. 

N even been told it might b 2 late, n I still might even die.

But I ain't got the time to worry, sob be sad n cry.

I got a list of ppl to take out, b4 I can say goodbye.

© 2021 Leg Skrew on Skrew off - Rob Reid

Bored - Ward F7

I'm so bored, bored, bored, bored.

Locked drawers been jimmied, n meds already been chawed.

My ward mates been shipped off, so I'm now officially ignored.

Parents on a cruise holidaying it, having fun abroad.

I'm so bored, bored, bored, bored.

Feel like ripping security just 2 not b ignored.

Most of these nurses up town cud make top $ bein whored.

Why they do this job, is only known by the Lord.

I'm so bored, bored, bored bored.

I got a room full of old gits, stuck with me on my ward.

Never heard of headphones, so its loud nightly cricket scores.

Oh n hour long history lessons, about Nigeria on radio 4.

God I'm so bored, bored, bored, bored.

Might walk the corridors, pulling fire alarm cords.

Watch as porters collide, trying 2 evacuate patient hoards.

I've wandered so much, the whole hospitals been explored.

Someone put me in a coma, coz I'm so fucking bored,

I wanna wake up, when my leg ain't so raw.

I can't handle this boredom, n extras already been knawed,

I wish I could escape, by just pulling an emergency cord.

God plz help me, coz I'm so fucking bored.

If u aint got a plan, there's a few old bangers we cud chaw.

Go 4 a joyride, n hav a drink, do some drugs n maybe some whores,

Then solemnly back to Ward F7, where patients r taken 2 b bored.

© 2021 Rob Reid

Junior Doctor

I'm just a junior doctor n I know fuck all,

Only went to med school 2 bang girls in the bathroom stalls.

I come round all week, meek n silent as mandem speak, big bald n tall,

Then at the weekend your alone, n suddenly a little know it all.

But your just a younger, a pure div, specs in blue.

Glasses n pen out, with only half a quarter, of any clue.

If you hadn't chat so much shit, I wouldn't had 2 write this Skrew.

But I hate telling Dox, shit they should already knew.

Sorry for the grammar, but I don't give a fuck.

U want me have a bed bath, get 1 of them fit nurses, 2 kneel and suck.

All I want is a power shower, but I keep waking up in muck.

Sick blood n bile, I'm obviously all out of luck.

Go back to med school, pay grand's 2 learn wat I learnt on the Street.

Which meds interact with what, n what drugs will make u swell ur feet.

It's all in the box dinlow, just open it, n read that sheet.

Then I wouldn't be listening every weekend, about ur crappy medical feats.

© 2021 Rob Reid

The Walking Dead

You better run n hide,

You better run n hide,

Here come the walking dead,

I am one of the walking dead.

You better stay inside,

Run n hide.

I don't need to wear a poxy mask,

I don't want to wear a poxy mask.

Not that anyone bothers to ask.

But 10+ diff exemptions, give me a legal pass.

U see em in the corridors, watch the fear in their eyes.

An unmasked patient, is making their heart beats rise.

They step to the left, so I step to the right.

You better stay 2 metres away, or u'll get a fright.

Here come the walking dead,

I am one of the walking dead,

No mask is on, so you better fuck off n hide.

Find any room, a toilet to lock n hide.

2 metres ain't enuff love,

2 miles is far too wide.

Here come the unmasked evil ones,

Masks always offered n instantly denied,

I don't want to wear a poxy mask,

I don't need a chin wipe mask,

It's my legal right 4 u 2 get scared n hide.

U think ur going to get COVID, from me walking past?

Or is it more likely, from touching coffee mugs, or holding a dirty glass?

I don't give a flying toss, if ur scared wen I pass,

I get a COVID test every other day, n it ain't exactly a laff.

So watch the walking dead, as they dare wander unmasked.

N then wonder what exemptions, let them bare teeth n laugh.

I'm a paranoid schizo, with anxiety n not just riff raff.

But I'll let ur Sun read mind wander, n freak at the thought of ur task.

Here comes the walking dead, and he ain't wearing a mask.

How the hell am I safely, going to make it past?

Well maybe I wont sneeze on ur face, n luckily u'll last.

Then maybe u can give me a smile, under ur cloth, as we pass.

I've chased doctors, who've scampered in 2 nearest open doors.

N made lift occupants, exit on their wrong floor..

All coz of an unmasked patient, they just can't ignore.

So the more u all scamper, the more I scare some more.

Sorry but I'm past the point, of being a hypocrite.

N 2 b honest, it cracks me up more than a little bit.

To watch the unbreathable pant, as if they are all unfit.

But then I'm the walking dead, and I don't give 2 flyin shits.

© Rob Reid 2021

The Windy Road

It isn't easy, getting out my bed,

It isn't easy, getting out my head.

The shit you do, the shit you say,

It isn't easy, forgetting what you said.

The life I lead, might not b the life you'd tread,

The path I follow, can be one I often dread.

The shit I say, the shit I move, the shit I loot,

Ain't always the best steps, for me to head.

It isn't easy, remembering all the times I bled,

It isn't easy, chatting my shit, to the well read.

The things peeps yap, the life long tab,

I'd rather not be in debt, when I'm finally dead.

That windy road I see, seems to go on far far ahead.

That windy road I walk, cud easily carve me up, brown bread,

The ppl alongside, the odd good joyride.

That windy road, might lead me somewhere else, totally instead....

© 2021 All Rights Reserved Rob Reid