Wednesday, January 21, 2015


Sasquatch STD Breath
By Paul Tristram

I awoke this un-fine morning
in bed with 2 Ogres,
a Cave Troll
and a Druid Priestess
who had long ago gone bad.
Covered in something that did
not look, smell or feel normal?
I slid to the damp flooring,
crawled backwards gingerly
to the bathroom, cringingly
and silently scaled the scolding
window and made my escape,
whilst patting out the singeing
edges of my poor, demented mind.
I made it home safe and sound
although shook up beyond belief.
Got down onto my bandaged knees
and prayed and promised solemnly
to henceforth never again frequent
that dingy part of downtown and
to completely refrain from drinking
neat whisky from half pint glasses.

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Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet. You can read his poems and stories here!


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