With mine love I doth attack thee

You can read more of my story in:

Friendship is the highest and truest love

With mine love I doth attack thee.
Love returned thy defence,
or flee thou must.

For love doth see,
and if thou canst not love,
wouldst thou be seen?

Back when I was mad, when I thought I was the Archangel Michael and I hung out homeless in Cambridge town centre, I had an acquaintance who was a punk. He was a similar age to me and also homeless and the epitome of punk from the skinhead to the leathers to the inquisitive but densely impenetrable attitude. I remember sitting on stone steps with him, probably not far from the slightly fancy McDonalds that they finally permitted in the cobbled and hallowed lanes of Cambridge town centre, we'd just been to one of the several regular food handouts for the homeless that existed in the mid-nineties.

He punched me in the jaw. Hard enough to notice, but not that hard really all things considered. He seemed to be wondering what I would do next. His company wasn't that bad and he didn't look like he was going to do it again. So I ignored it.

It only happened a couple more times over the few weeks I knew him. Then he decided he didn't like me and told me to leave town. I didn't, but I didn't see him again and not long after that I was picked up whilst roller blading and taken by police prisoner transport van directly to Bedford prison and an entirely new phase of my adventures began.

"The work of a life is finding healing from the trauma of a life."

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