Back To Bed

So chilling cold, 

Ruffle n snuffle,

I'm lying here, 

Back to bed.

Take your time,

It's all you have.

Mine is up,

Pass my fuckeries cup.

Choca Mocha.

Rice krispiees, 

N a butter crosiant with jam. 

I toke the vape, 

Eyes as wide as I can. 

Got a broken nose,

And blood on my knees.

Full of metal, 

Pain and krackle, 

Trickee tackle, when I walk.

But a smile on my face, 

When I see a bird to talk. 

Be a good boy,

Is what my mama said.

But I chose to be naughty,

That's why I'm back to bed.

@ 2025 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

Willow

Staring through double glass,

At our tall white willow.

Thick window pass,

As I sink into pillow.

I want this to pass,

A painful memory.

Slipping school class,

To avoid my young enemy.

Stared into my mirror,

A double blot reflection.

Never run with scissors,

A youthful infection.

I can't help to believe,

My youthful distractions.

Only wanted to receive,

Less school letter infractons. 

Fighting playground bullies,

To stop unhelpful young males.

I'm pulling endless pullies,

A maze of dead end sales.

Sold out the American dreams,

No REM sleep for my head.

Rub my rash with Mums creams,

And time pass wishes in bed.

I don't know what this all makes,

Apart from a head full of pains.

A life full of heart breaks,

And nothing is to be gained. 

© 2025 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

The Flat

Flat, flat,

I'm stuck in my pad,

How long, 

Many days I've had.

Rot, rot, 

Left to rot,

Bored of the stream, 

TVs ear claptrot, 

Toke, toke, 

Just one toke,

Licking that pipe,

It's an expensive joke.

Dad, Dad, 

Tell your Dad, 

He don't even care, 

How many licks I've had. 

Bed, bed, 

I'm tied to this bed, 

Got nowhere to go, 

I'll dissolve in this bed. 

Sore, sore, 

I'm really sore, 

Just rolling to pain,

So can't write any more.

© 2023 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

Anxiety

I’ve got the pain, the pain, that anxious pain in my head again.

I don’t wanna go out coz I got the shame, that shame of forgetting peeps’ names.

Do u see those eyes on me, balling me, balling me, eyeballing me in the shop?

I don’t want 2 speak coz my brain is gonna stall on me, stall on me, make me stutter, choke n stop.

I wanna curl up in a ball n just crawl into a deep dark hole n hide.

But I’m forced to see people eyeballing me, balling me n looking unhappy n snide.

The anxiety hits me so bad, whenever I get stressed or rushed 4 time.

I used 2 make it worse, full paranoid schizo, by doing cheeky pub toilet top lines.

When I see peeps’ I don’t know in the street coming @ me, I walk past em a mile n a half wide.

N when I can’t find my wallet or phone, I’m on that dark painful panic filled slide.

All I wanna do is get my meds, my pills, crunch em up, n hopefully knock myself out.

Coz I can’t handle the fear when people get upset with me or angry n scream n shout.

What have I done to deserve this constant fear n anxious pain?

All I do is repeat the same steps n get that fear over n over again.

Where’s my keys, I’ve lost them, have u seen em? I’m gonna go mad.

Ten minutes later I realise there in my pockets so deep, I already had.

So just give me my meds, my pills n capsules, I need 2 calm down.

I’ve been on em so long, my script would knock any Zoo Elephant down.

N I can’t get off em coz I need professional help n time, which aint even here.

So talk of Detox n using Mindfulness or CBT, is not even near.

It seems the Government has shut down all the free rehabs 2 save on their cash.

They think I can just cut down at home alone, I wouldn’t even get a good bash.

No1 understands the fear n panic from anxiety I get in my head.

So I just put up with the pain, the fear, the balling n stay in my bed.

© 2023 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

An Ode to My Bed

This is an ode and poem to my very own double bed, 

A prison cell maybe, but it’s home n a place I never dread.

I do get tired from climbing steep stairs with broken legs,

N I get to the top n need to lie down to rest my creaking pegs.

I’m in my bedroom n through the windows I could see blue sky,

But the curtains R always closed tight n only my paranoia knows why.

Like hospital, I’ve spent days and weeks just lying on my bed,

Waiting for ops or recuperation time, I am the walking dead.

I can hear cars screech early doors, N planes N trains fly by.

N I can block the sound of little barking dogs out if I really try.

I have a nice NHS air mattress on my bed after my thigh was chopped,

It's nice and hard and keeps me waking to find my back broken N flopped.

With my TV on the wall, I watch YouTube N Netflix all day N night,

But the cops do love me so when I hear the doorbell ring I get a fright.

After the deadly ruck I had, blood stains the ceiling N now I have a camera doorbell,

So if blue do come a knocking I can always look at the screen for an early tell.

But I do love my bed it’s the space I have suffered, loved, and cried,

And one of these days it’ll probably be the place I finally rest to die.

© 2022 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid