Baffling how I came to be a pauper, I thought,
An ex-serviceman, me, still with an upright back.
Thing is: I never really arrived home. Did I?.
Not real home. Everything changed.
Belfast, The Falklands, Belize, Operation Desert Storm
See a doctor some said,
“I’ll be reet” I say, “after a bit.”
Even here: No-go, No-Irish, No-squaddies 
The Falls, Free Derry, Shankhill, South Armagh, Newry
Where the Armalite was yer only man,

The Sally army bloke tells me 'there are rules'
‘Doesn’t know me name,’ ‘fuck him’.
I'm already out on the street again
Not stuck in a room  with rules 
Fools that drain the life out of me.

And anyway, she moved out years ago,
To settle down, create memories, babies
I wish I could escape from my memories.
PTSD the nurse had said. Don’t know what that is.
The images in me head, still massively aflame .
And yeah a few years ago I was a hero
But now, I were told by the bloke from the Legion,
That I needs to be careful; blokes being done for obeying orders
Being put on trial for using a gun..
Plenty of unknown soldiers I think, like me,
Some take to the drink, others take their own lives.
My brain's a-flame with all I know.
Nobody's interested, no where to go.,
The leg where I were shot
Hurts like fuck. Just ano vet down on his luck.

He has layers over his heart, like blankets.
Levels of pain, of memories too,
Like the medals he once wore,
Sold, given away, lost, stolen,
Gone, like me like you.