Devils Chop Shop

I'm here visiting the devil's chop shop, 

A place reason n time seemingly forgot. 

I'm sat here in Heavens waiting room,

Its Limbos Limbo, competition soon.

For all the fun for all 2 see,

I don't like it, here, in purgatory.

Take them symbols from that mon-key,

N let's make this brain more fun-ky.

My brains a trycylic 90s pass by,

I Don't dare take dem SNR-I.

Unless u wanna see mental drought,

All life source, sucked right out.

Like an IDF double tap casual-ty,

I'm Harry Kanes missed penal-ty.

The Devil's NHS ain't exactly the, best,

But I just love Nepalese hospital bed, rest.

Its so easy being on a ward I know,

N I don't really want to pack up n go. 

Outside is just pain for my scratchy brain,

Tik Tok sound pound, I've gone again.

Hecticness n debt collectors,

Pikies want me, head protectors.

Don't waste time make appointment,

I'm a senile parental disappointment.

So I better getta lift up soon.

Heavens alien base stuck on the moon.

N then I'll be able to rest my mental pain,

No fake friend pretends, I'm God again. 

© 2023 – All Rights Reserved

God complex

When I was just a baby alien God,

I never really wanted human blood.

Now I'm omnipotent I love it like dogs love mud,

Just give me your neck n let the red flood.

Life’s just a vivid dream now separate from time, 

I can see other worlds just with my mind, 

Remote viewing and universal consciousness is a gold mine, 

I never know when I sleep what I'll find. 

I've been a joyrider riding space cars, 

N I've killed insectoid aliens fighting on mars.

I've killed millions with my mind eons far, 

And destroyed hundreds of planets and their stars.

I am Zeus, Thor, Yahweh and all you humans worship me, 

You all bend over and follow my every decree.

I change my name every hundred years or three,

And all you mortal beings just worship me.

I think I might just have a God complex,

My life is stuck in time a human wreck,

I bellow commands and send sailors below deck,

I demand fealty and you all pay me respect.

But then again, I'm in a locked up padded cell,

With tubes coming from every orifice, I can tell.

Maybe I am only a God of the room I dwell,

And I will spend eternity in my very own hell.

© 2022 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

Drips....

Drip drop drip drop,

Watching IV fluid non-stop.

30 min bag so they say,

But I've been counting drops half the day.

Celestines on another mental rant,

Too young 2 b sectioned so a Bible chant.

She thinks she's been saved by a religious man,

Running around pulling plugs out coz she can. 

Reciting Genesis word from word, 

I point 2 fingers at her eyes n tell her it's absurd. 

An ancient Sumerian creation myth was passed down. 

From land to empire a trick the Romans turned around.

She's skinny as fuck but been put on Olanzapine, 

I don't think she realises what a real mean teen really means.

She got on my tits when the shower was off, 

I gave her the evil eye n told her off. 

Just u wait til ur in a locked padded room with 3 other loons,

You'll be doing the Largactil shuffle pretty soon. 

I'm on a locked ward in 30 degree heat, 

The stench of death leaks from legs like rotting meat. 

I kicked off before n ill kick off again, 

They just go lardy da thinking I'm insane. 

This is a mental ward with very disturbed patients, 

I count myself as one when I lose my patience. 

"Don't worry Rob" they lie to my face, 

As doctors hide, I run n chase. 

"Honestly, your benzos r coming very soon," 

Saying that all day n night all 2 the same very tune. 

If u don't come equipped ur going to rattle,

Every muggy day locked up is a daily battle. 

I seemed 2 hv got a monthly rotation at this HMP,

I see nurses n dox that I know, looking scared wen they jus see me. 

I think I've got to that stage of my life,

My mental n physical health is gone I'm on the dive.

So I count these drips from the bag as they drip n drop,

N plug my earphones in 2 block the rot.

© 2022 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

Flash Fiction - Doctor

I'm thinking no doctor can fix me,

and why are hospital wards so noisy.

What do these tubes of liquid pump into me.

Do any nurses look on with real pity?

A week in bed then home thankfully.

I thought God, why do bad things always happen to me.

© 2021 - All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

£20 Rocket Man

We're nothing more than a scores rocket man,

Trips to the moon on the side of a can.

Sprinkle of ash from the back of a hand,

And we fly to space to the sound of a band.

Still both clever enough to split shit like the double slit,

Quantum flux waves and particles made from a billion bits.

Had Einstein's minds but the brains of a twit,

And wonky legs from too many hits.

We still checked the box for Schrödinger's cat,

Dead or alive, but still matters a fact.

He probably starved should have thrown him a rat,

But then he's only moving if you hadn't checked that.

I said I'm gonna sort it out, and I gave God a shout,

Long waited 30 years but never heard nought.

It's been a long time and I've survived many droughts

Still Wuhan crazy to wear gloves n mask to go out.

My eyes got double blots and my minds gone blank,

My tongues tied up in a chat that wasn't to Frank.

Got the sniffles and a cough from the rising damp,

I'll still send you a card from space if I can afford the stamps.

But still nothing more than a yellow rock star ship man

Flying to the moon as fast as our wallets say we can.

Rocket fuels cheap fluffed baking powder stale like spam,

And electronic wiring that's as old as your gran.

One day our rocket ships going to stop giving NASA's radar a blip.

The CIA's gonna make sure our boosters explode to a million bits.

Paranoia's top mad but plenty of time floating to think a bit,

Before our oxygen runs out and we all choke for shit.

It was an important mission, I was sure we could land,

Pretty sure Armstrong's lodge helped out with the plan.

Shame Kubrick wasn't around to put the film in the can,

But we still did our best on Area 51's banned desert sand.

So did I wish I had changed jobs and become a man in a suit,

A door to door salesman with a briefcase full of scams to boot.

College wasn't hard so we always had time to toot,

And every boss I had was a thief so I chose a life harder to loot.

© 2020 Robert Reid – All Rights Reserved

Butterfly

The one winged butterfly, he tried so hard yet flew too high,

Two flaps for one he done, and he almost touched the sky.

But burned hot by the orange sun, he spiraled down to die,

Yet the ground opened under him, caught by the Devil nearby.

He said God's scraps are pure crap and mine always to be,

Any mental or ill health, are all torture plans for me.

That being up top, he never stops, only wanting Angels regrettably,

But any defect is deep regret, so he bin bags them for me.

The butterfly replied through blurry eyes, looking up to cloudy sky,

Those scraps may be your crap, but to me I have to ask why?

I suspect you've wept and over kept, fake Ken's and pretend Barbies,

You've lost out on a real corrupt soul, all just to take me?

I maybe Heaven scorned but I'm not Hell born, even if now owned by thee,

But I won't play or sing your Devil songs, and kill just to please.

Because Devil crap ain’t bubble wrapped, your realm won't be shaped by me,

Your worshipers are just irreparable and have no souls to need.

The horned one debated some before over come, and let the butterfly go,

No more time for talking now, he flapped his wing so fast not slow.

He was very high, clouds below, this was a path he didn't know,

Yet just as he faded and starting to doubt, from afar came a bright light show,

When he had flown high enough, he neared a glimmering shore,

So happy he was when Heaven neared, soon he'd tire no more.

The butterfly had made it up, he had landed right at Heaven's door,

But St. Peter said, “No luck son, UKIPS in, we don't take insects no more”

© 2020 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid