Oops!… We Did It Again (summer leaves)

Erm… hullo there. (This is rather awkward…)

Dear Reader, the stuff that was originally posted here has been removed.

We have done this because said stuff has since been included in one of our published books. We hope you’ll believe us when we say we’re not trying to be stingy. No, this has been done to honour the people who have already spent their hard-earned money on our eBook creations.*

If, however, for some reason you’re unable to buy one of our books, and feel you’ll die without seeing this piece of writing, then please contact us via admin@unbolt.me. We won’t allow our Dear Readers to fade away in the dark. We’ll send you the piece in question, and it will be absolutely free. All you need do is ask.

* Of course, we would be like two happy puppies if you too decided to buy one of our books.

© All rights reserved 2016-2018

Saudade ~ The one terminally ill collaboration

I dream of you and wake up with a jolt…
My body gleams over two hundred volts…
And though I pray each lonely night for not to soil it…
It means I’ve used my electric blanket as a toilet…

unbolt says:
Oh… a poor dirty blanket… Does it mean that I’m your worst nightmare?

raycabiro says:
Ohh, it’s just unfortunate that your name rhymes with volt so I had no choice but to make it about weeing on an electric blanket… Maybe next time I could think of something a bit more savoury, maybe about a colt that moults.

WOW! Such a lovely tribute for a girl… Weeing on an electric blanket and mangy colts. I can bet you’re full of envy now, aren’t you? Yes, guys, I had no choice. Our collaboration was inevitable – like an annual moult. Thank you, Ramon! I adore you… You’re completely awesome!

Oh… last but not least! My special thanks to ARTISH for giving me permission to use her drawings. Thank you very much, Tish!

She always sits alone at the corner table
And smokes cheap cigarettes with a yellow label
She clicks idly on an email attachment
That tells a short story of a sexual harassment
The stale smoke lingers with a sense of unease
The same sense she’s got of her venereal disease

She’s the last vestal of this perverted Parthenon
She scrolls her friend list… the damned deceitful pantheon
Each face hides a secret of a sordid infection
The virus that’s inside her is the germ of affection
The memories all linger but her future self fades
She never even loved him, now she’s probably got AIDS

She’s just a Petri dish with a collection of human filth
Her verminous spongy womb is like the land is in good tilth
She’s riddled with the maladies that murder and smother
Her only hope was that the viruses would kill one another
But the one thing they left out from her medical flow chart
Was the worst disease of all, how he was breaking her heart

A screensaver fades… a carefree laughing girl at a tender age…
She stubs out a cigarette and goes slowly to the tiny stage
Each face in the crowd tells a story of shame
Where once they burned her records now they’re singing her name
Her introduction music starts to vibrate the stylus
And with their love in her heart, she’ll beat this sex virus

© All rights reserved 2015