A jaded cackle escapes my lips
as you nodded "puppet head" in my direction.
With a quizzical brown you questioned
the paint upon my face, and the purpose of it.

A tiredness overwhelmed my body
suddenly fatigued by the plight
of continually having to explain oneself
and armor ones choice from a misunderstanding world.

Compare me to a puppet doll if you wish,
the opinions you will draw of me based upon my face
fathom me little.

I paint my face for me, and only me
spending much time fussing over which shade of berry
suits my mood and attitude of how to tackle this dreary world today.

When I was a small child
while sentences were still new
and each day offered something previously unexplored
I stepped upon a spider.

I felt the crunching of its body
as its legs became detached,
a chilling feeling crept upon my spine
as the extent of the damage I had done was revealed.

I silently wept myself to sleep
and for many nights after that,
my failed attempts at resurrection
only added to my guilt.

We had a quiet service
where I spoke some words
of this misplaced spider
and his fallen world.

Now the chilling feeling creeps upon my spine
when my empathy is vacant
and I can all but care,
that feelings crawls around me
clinging to my skin
a sickening reminder
of sweet children's care.

I can hear the clock ticking
In the corner of this mundane room.
It smells half of hospital,
Half of rotting flowers and you.
A sad pre emtative truth.

That horrible ticking noise
Grows louder!
Demanding to be heard,
While silently smirking that it can be.
You lay hear dying
And it is a silly old clock we listen to.
Its ticking quickens
As your heart slows.

They will want me to speak
After you go.
I should ask you now what it is you would have me say,
But you seem more engrossed in the packet of Marlboro reds, perhaps your last ever.

Still everyone deserves kind words
At their funeral,
Not that I have any to say
And you made sure there would be nobody else left on your behalf who would speak.
I am afraid the liquor cannot thank you
For the years you drained on it.

Perhaps I could tell them of the time
When I was still young enough to have ***** finger nails and grazed knees
And I fell - tumbling to the ground with such force tears welled in my eyes and soon I was screaming out your name.

You came to my rescue, like the Knight I thought you were.
You patched me up good and took me for food.
I could tell them how this evening was my favourite with you, and how I am sorry that I lost this to liquore.

As I my mind returns to the place at hand,
And I consider telling you this
That horrible ticking ceases to exist,
Taking you with it.

Brush your teeth!
Brush your hair!
Fix your dress -
No no! That's not what you were told to wear.

Clean your bedroom,
Dust the stairs!
Mop the kitchen!
Careful, clean with care!

I thought I told you
To buy new towels?
We can't hang out these rags,
They'll think us fools!

There is dust on the cupboards
This just won't do!
Where is the good China?

For goodness sake we will have to start anew!

I wish I could put
Plasters on my soul,
Like I put lipstick
On my lips.

A finite "quick fix"

Take me home
Where I belong,
Dancing in the rain
Reunited once more with you again.

Take me home
I am ready to fall
I've run so far away,
But there are memories you cannot outrun.

Take me home,
With you is where I belong.

If you cannot forgive yourself,
How is the world supposed to give you a clean slate?

So I brushed my hair
Twice!
With a fine tooth comb,
Until my hair flowed
Like silken water
And soft to the touch.

I scrubbed at my face
As if that soap and water
Would wash away
All my blemishes and past mistakes.

And when I was ready
I thumbed the blue dress
That look as though
It was for an adult dressed as a child.

"Blue like the ocean, blue like your eyes"

Im standing in the hallway,
Like a statue-perfect girl
With the eyes of my ancestors
Peering from the walls.
I held my breath
Like the breaths captured in all those peering eyes.

Today I would look perfect,
Like your darling little girl.
I know I am grown now
But on my birthday, I still hope you'll return.

Give you *****
and you will be the hurricane,
the whirlwind, the torment
that will cause a crevice
in our lives.

Give you ***
and you will sing
tales of Irish history
and a lively session
will begin.

Give you cider
and we will spend our night
on the wrong side
of a cubicle door,
drowning in plight.

Give you tequila
and you will dance
until your soles ache -
then you will bare your soul,
all the troubles in your closed world.

Give you a mineral
and say it is any of these
and you will act
the very same.
A replica of the offensive.
A blind drunk relic.

You called me a heretic,
as I fought for what I believe
is right.

With my whole heart
I try to achieve
the commandments laid out for me.

I live by The book,
loving Him
my neighbours, enemies and my friends.

Old scars
bring new flesh wounds
as secrets hidden
bring to life
the trials of being human.

Plagued with suffering,
is the test of a follower.
Though I get tired of crawling -
dragging my devout being
through a fallen world.

I have been cheated,
as I have failed.
I say I won't return,
but I never learn.

I have been burned
by that to which I have devoted my life.

Who is a heretic now?

The world is on fire
and we've been burned again
sinners and devout alike.

Spilled ink
is better than spilled blood.

From that ink
craft your soul-deep thoughts
into a work of art.

I do not need you to love me
like an insecure youth.
Life has been cruel
and taught me that such words can be mute.

I do not need you to hold me
each and every night.
I have learnt that such demands
can drive one further away.

I do not need you to change me,
or me to change you.
Such actions are poignant
like a steak through the heart.

I do need some sense of security though,
to know that you trust me
to be there when you need me
and when you don't,
and for you to do the same for me.

As long as our hearts may desire,
and faith that when they no longer do,
that I will be a sweet fading memory
for you.

" I do not fear the night time,
no, my fear is much beyond that,
I fear the darkness within my soul -
the unrecognisable face in the mirror. "

I want to bleach my soul
so that it may be untainted
and returned
to its original
blank canvasry
of beauty
and innocence,
as sweet as welcomed summer rain.

I have these words
etched onto the
left hand corner
of my heart.

The grá I have for you,
so full and bold -
A love so meaningful
it can never truly be
told.

Mise agus Tusa,
you and me,
just three little words
etched into my heart.

I am everything I have ever been
I am no one, only me.

I am all the colours of the rainbow,
the wind and the rain, and the unbearable heat.

I am the sun and moon,
the grass, the mountains and the oceans blue.

I am all my failures, and all that I have conquered,
I am everything that I have seen, everything I wished to keep.

I am everything I have ever gained,
and everything I've lost.

I am everything,
but I am nothing at all.

You are a million miles away
so far beyond my reach
that my touch will never again
be greeted by your laughter,
or the glint of mischievous dirt-brown eyes.
And the echoing of my name
through the colours of your voice
will never again fill this empty space.

You are a million miles away,
next to me, not in outer space.

I am going to play that song again,
always the same,
you cannot make me change.
Through the broken radio
the vibrations will make me whole
and we'll be back to playing this game.

Just look at me,
and you will know the truth.
I will sing the words wrong
but to me they are so right
'cause its true, I love you.

Write me a love poem
and we will see who has the last laugh -

A kiss with a fist sweetheart
a lovers pun.

I am Eve.
Your Eve,
like one, created from your very rib!

I am forever,
a piece of you.
Yet another body.

It is only customary then
that you _
from whom I am created
will be my demise.

Your serpent is there to temp me
and from it
a web cast of lies -

It feels like the whole world is against me,
that it's entirety is wishing that I would fail.

Funny how the demonic actions of one,
could make me feel this way.

Love-poems of generations
recited through the sweet nothings
which are truly somethings.
Wedding vows, declarations
and wasted pitches.
Love and romance
encompass the orbit
that is my secret world.
Love swirls through the air
like autumn-leaves.
Colours reflect those of the
dead-flowers gifts.
The world a giggling
giddy, teenage romance.
Like in novels and epic tales.

My love story is a little different.
You stray away,
marginalizing yourself,
from me and all this feeling.
I wont shatter if you touch me,
or slip away -
back to nothing.

You are worse for my lungs
then the cigarettes I refuse to smoke.
Conflicted breathing.
Pounding heart.
Dizzy spells.
And love,
is art.

****** her out
onto the rough dirt,
the chapped earth
will soak her soul

Her being left to erode.
Corrupted by a town
that never understood
her story.

Misunderstood and perfect
yet rejected and alone.
A soul in custody -
bound by them

Not loving yourself
Because they always broke their promises.

You kept yours my darling.

I will tell you later
if you tell me now

There is yours
and there is mine
there is no us
like in storybooks

I am young
and you are restless
I am reckless
and you are wise

To the outside
we might be combined
but there is yours
and there is mine

Our stalemate love
is a sour tragedy
bitter on our lips
and tongues

Because there is yours
and there is mine
and what we have
we can't combine

You are the restless soul
that has been aged
and I am the youth
that is your pastime

Stalemate love
for stalemate lives -

How can something so fair
be so -

There is beauty within failure*
Is my life then a tale of a fair maiden
surrounded by a macabre beauty?


Then it is not the tragedy
written in my sins
on bloodstained paper
that I've been practicing


Or is the beauty in
learning from you failures?
'Cause then all these lessons have been lost on me

When the darkness breaks in
I won't break down and accept defeat,
I will never let them win -