Endlessly slashing, thick vines
block us at every turn. We
trudge remorselessly on through
the dark brooding jungle.

Beads of sweat pour down our
faces on to our sodden shirts
as we continue to slash our
way through the undergrowth,
our anxious thoughts and
the mocking birds taunts.

Drunk with tiredness, we’re
not even sure why we continue.
Overhead the multicoloured birds
laughingly harangue us with their
twisted words. “You’ll never make
it”, “you’re having a
laugh”, “the end is nigh”.



I sit on the bench,
contemplating my future,
waiting for the chop.
In your tears is my revenge.
Do you know my name?