Demented with excitement

Ever driving a mind wild.

Lucid hallucinations

Insanity truly styled.

Raving like a lunatic

In mania it’s free

Of restraint. A bold

Use of creativity.

Such enjoyable madness.

©Jacqui Slade


The sad malicious monger

always has an opinion

and an enthusiasm

to salivate over shit


that they know nothing about.

They will spread it willingly

and try to poison your soul

with their jealous vitriol.


Their forked tongues will bite you hard

They hope that you will be weakened

by their ugly disdain and

venomous empowerment.


Their only orgasms come

from trying to ruin lives.

So hold your head high and laugh

their bitterness will fuck them.


©Jacqui Slade


The problem is I’m tired

I’m tired of your game.

I’m tired of hurting

and always being blamed.


Im tired of you treading

on my soul and heart.

I’m tired of my feelings

being torn apart.


Im tired of loving

you don’t appreciate.

My whole spirit’s giving

and you just give me hate


Tiny little pinpricks

of your mental abuse,

over time have scarred me

your love is just a ruse.


©Jacqui Slade

The Abuser

Thinking fear invokes respect

the abuser knows no bounds,

with their sick morality.

It’s society’s disease


as it turns the other cheek

on the victim. Loyalty

is to the miscreant soul

who is the casualty of


a battered fantasist, a

family breaker of an

acceptable life of tears,

beatings and vile perversion.


It’s always the jovial

fiend who walks away unscathed.

Whilst the world is disgusted

at the strong woman who fled.


©Jacqui Slade


Your truth is a delusion

a magicians cloak of truth.

Cavorting with trickery

for self metamorphosis.


Juggling the deception

with manipulative lies.

The farcical illusion

is a peculiar twist


of disorderly dreams,

created to disguise a

loathsome actuality

by a poor conjurers mind.


Mere sorcery can’t hoodwink

your insecurity as,

self esteem so fragile lies

in splinters of broken wands.


©Jacqui Slade

Love Is A Slow Burn 

It’s a passionate flame

Igniting souls with its

ferocious flicker and

scorching intensity.


Its hellish damnation

is its fiery nature.

Emblazoned with desire

for its beloved spark


to combust in kindled

sweet nothings. Smothered

the glow is extinguished.

Loves waning’s a slow burn


Ones lust is cremated,

the other walks away.

Their passion still burning

leaving, their warm hearts scarred.


©Jacqui Slade