Don’t Moan/Time Slot/Windows to the Soul – by ROB TRUE

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                                  Don’t Moan by ROB TRUE


They had all grown tired with her constant moaning.

Standing in the kitchen,

surrounded by meat and flies,

a whirl wind of chopping and stirring,

she moaned and fucking moaned about some shit!

Fenton Truick shouted,


with someone else’s voice. His lips didn’t move

and the voice seemed to come from another dimension.

She turned to look in slow motion.

Time slowed down now.

Picture jumped, frame to frame.

Their eyes locked and time returned.

She stood still, flashing image.

Now she’s there, now she’s gone and now back again.

Fenton Truick released a catch under his chin,

lifted his face on a hinge at the forehead

and inside his head was an aerial view of her Mother,

on a bed, suffering the stroke that killed her.

That shut her up.


Time Slot by ROB TRUE


She took off her dress and knickers, squatted low on heels,

Legs wide, I had a good view.

The pretty lips hung below her like butterfly wings

And Hannah said when she stroked herself, she could travel time.

She started slow looking me in the eye, her breath heavy and ragged,

As the pace picked up, the background blurred and shimmering,

Colour vivid I knew it was happening as the room began to vibrate.

She reached ecstasy and the noise like being trapped in a tunnel with a roaring train.

Everything stood still, silent vision of naked girl

And between legs, an upside down butterfly took off flapping wings.

Mesmerised I watched it fly round on a warm breeze.

We’d turned up at a nineteen fifties summer fete

And she said oh fuck I forgot to hold on to my dress again.

                             Windows To The Soul by ROB TRUE 

Angel Theron knew what he had to do.

He looked cool and self-assured.

Dark shirt, dark glasses and slicked back, black hair.

“I need money up front,”

he said.

“How do we know to trust a man who wears dark glasses to do business?”

asked Barry Danes.

Angel Theron slowly removed his shades.

Instead of eyes he had two arseholes, where the eyes should be.

The left arsehole puckered up & slowly farted.

It fucking stunk!


IMAG1850 (2)

***Rob True was born in London 1971. He left school with no qualifications, dyslexic and mad, in a world he didn’t fit into. He got lost in an abyss, was sectioned twice and spent the best part of a decade on another planet. He returned to earth just in time for the new millennium, found a way to get on in life, married a beautiful girl and lived happily ever after. She taught him how to use paragraphs and punctuation and his writing has been a bit better ever since. Find him on Twitter at:  ***


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