stop up ahead so we can catch our breath –

you can see it, billowing up
into an upturned sieve;
bright, cold dripping in, separating
from heavy purple mass.

how many damp backs have we endured?
aching to catch a glimpse of that beyond,
sprawled at the foot of the infinite,
gulping down lungful after lungful of sharp forever-ness.

is it just me or do they get further away?

you remember reaching right up
and tracing the inside of the rim
with your hands?

pin-****** dropped so quietly
onto your face,
lodging under your pores.

i used to think i could hear them,

what sound did they make,
when you could hear them?

have you ever listened to glass on water,
or ice cubes in the dark,
or the space between old friends (no longer speaking),
or a billion lighthouse keepers closing their eyes,
or concrete pipes in the summer,
or God’s name (YHWH),
or that night the dunes caved in and i saw milk in heaven,
or the gap in the second hand,
or Sigur Rós’s fourth studio album (the one where God speaks)?

that’s what they sounded like,
but i don’t believe you can hear them anymore.

my tongue crawls back to the gap
where my tooth fell out;
passing by the rigid brace
permanently fixed to the back
of my incisors.

tracing stuffed bedrows
stained by Lagans of tea,
skipping the entrance,
afraid of the sea

change that takes place -
when you linger too long,
or the sharp, shooting pain
when probing goes wrong.

i avoided the dentist
(with her microscope stare)
and chose to dress it
with other (important) affairs.

hope has a still, small voice

am I the monster?

pitiful, broken boy. vile creature. twisted soul.

it all feels a bit trite now. I used to fill pages upon pages with that. a ceaseless wave of self-loathing. I wanted to do that tonight. I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to tear myself to pieces. just like the old days: endless tirades into whatever abyss presented itself. notes and poems, blogs and songs.

I even carved it into my skin.

"MONSTER" "PERVERT" "FREAK" "EVIL"

if you look closely you can still see the faint outlines of names I gave myself from my hips to my thighs.

but scars fade.
wounds heal.
tablets work (and stop working), counsellors work (and stops working), friends leave (and stop leaving),

nothing stands still. that once constant hum fades into the distance.

a new song takes its place.

just look at all the hope left in its wake...

all the friendships maintained. all the relationships built. all the late night calls and car rides to the beach. all the conversations and arguments. all the half-baked ideas and plans to change the world. all the cups of tea and petrol station tray bakes. all the last minute events. all the bickering and creating. all the faces glowing. all the plane, train, bus, and bike journeys. all the phone calls answered. all the wounds bandaged. all the ambulance trips and hospital visits. all the falling outs and friend drama. all the heartbreak and bellyache. all the pain and confusion. all the *** and prayer. all the tears and laughter. all the board games and secret shames. all the friends lost and friends gained.

there are lives worth living, and people worth loving.
my life did not end at 16, when I committed a crime and shattered the world.
no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I bled, I could not change what I had done.

but it is done.
all of it.
and many, many years later, I think I can finally begin close a chapter of my life.

after all, hope grows in the cracks.

let me pursue kindness if it kills me.

let my actions speak louder.

let my reflection be true and my apologies timely.

let anger flee and love remain.

let pain subside and healing grow.

and where I have toyed with fire let hope build bridges.

i can piece together scraps
and tie up old ribbon
and weave a new story

out of old memories
and new friends
and tales of true emotion

heartache, heartbreak,
when there’s just a little more
at stake

echoes of laughter and music,
deep sea and vast distance

dip and weave
move and shake
from many pieces,
one does a quilt make

grey carpet, yellow wall,
brown table, yellow wall,
blue seat, yellow wall,
and a **** coloured stain on the ceiling.
_______

shoulders pressed inward,
hands between thighs,
hair hanging in front of
detestable grey eyes.

but details matter,
red hands must smear
a crude-drawn picture,
on strips of brown-clear.

blinding and white
burning the table,
ten pages in all,
a statement from Abel.

attempt to explain,
better yet confess,
inky black clips,
secret, sudden cess.

bottle green, cautioning;
two lives lost
to action unseen.
golden is youth,
yet blue is the feeling,
all colour gone, body reeling.

when I was growing up,
our hallway had the most peculiar floor:
not quite carpet,
not quite planks,
but something in between.

like a wicker basket
stretched out over several metres,
or the rope you find
dangling off a dinghy's mooring,

it scratched and screened
at the soles of your feet,
tickling and tormenting
bare toes or
pulling the threads out of
well-meaning pairs of socks.

I hated it, or at least,
I thought I did —
until the day it was replaced by
laminate panels.

fake wood didn't cut it,
neither would expensive pile,
or any scraggly synthetic offering
to do the trick.

our painful, hessian homecoming
was a path to beds, and tables,
and welcoming arms.

it marked a definite departure
from sensible carpets and
suitable floors,
to the place between comforts.

for who would dally in a hallway that hurt?
or who would pause to feel the prickling,
pinching of strange interior decor?

of course, sense prevailed —
wood would come,
wood would stay,

and our peculiar, prickly past,
would become a story for some other day.

wind whips around the eaves,
whistling by the Velux,
rattling the back gate.

which consequences do I own,
whose hands are inside mine,
what veins belong to me,
and where do they lead?

what if the walls don't hold tonight?
what if they crumble and break?
and I get ****** out -
the contents of my room
shooting through the sky,
burrowing deep into my skin,
piercing the clear, cold night?

_________

It's settling down now,
but you always knew it would.
These things pass, and tomorrow,
you'll collect the detritus scattered on the road.

You sink deep into the pile
of old blankets
and duvet
and wisps of remembrance

You're safe here
at least until tomorrow,
at least until tomorrow,
at least until tomorrow,

sweet blossoming joy,
friends who stick around,
friends who have only just begun.

ah life flows
from rocks broken in two ,

water pouring out
of stone,

drenching all around,
with sweet blossoming joy

let light drive out darkness,
hope supplant fear,
joy overtake despair;

and most of all,
may love and goodness grow,
where forgiveness flows

spiky heart
falling into my lap
pulling out the threads from my jumper on the way down

have you ever tasted the sting
of jagged love
as it finds the quickest way out?

I wouldn't worry too much,
mo chara,
it's not your greatest weakness.

shards scatter outwards like stars,
spiralling away from the centre of your universe

finding rest in soft, pink flesh,
wriggling close to the
warm cavern in my chest.

brilliant blinding light
shimmers beneath the surface;

short, sharp, shocked
intake of breath:

"****."

dark clouds linger on the horizon,
you can just make them out.

summer, you've been

...

my head stops working. what words surmise the whole picture? how do I stay true to events, when my heart hurts? who am I really upset with? everyone else, or the wreck I see inside? this is a hard path to follow, I am long out of practice. I want goodness, wholeness, honesty - and that includes the sad and the difficult. I want Jesus. I don't want my volatility any longer,  and I know it's a journey, but goodness I long for its end.

I want to love those around me, even those keep making it difficult to. I want to be light and joy, not bitter and cruel. I need more God, and less conchúr... it is just taking a little while.

...

summer, you have been,
and whatever comes next,
I know where my anchor lies.

dark clouds linger on the horizon,
you can make it out of this alive.

who gave you the right
to collect other people’s misery?
heartaches and tears,
are not yours to own.

don’t you dare take my name,
it is yours no more;
not my life, not my soul,
not my home.

tá m’ainm! tá mo bhaile! tá m’anam seo!

with sweet voice,
and deft fingers,
you rewrite the pages,
to suit some plan of your own.

but my name? and his? and his?
our county, our place, our home?

stand upon your lonely ridge,
gaze down towards this fort,
and see:

taking others’ names is dangerous
when you don’t know what they mean.

falling in love with a hurricane,
isn't nearly as dramatic as it sounds

I will never stand in the way
of who you want to be,
but if this is it,
I want to be free.

my heart cannot take anymore,
it is being pummelled from all sides.
but from you?
I can’t tell the truth from the lies.

you tell me I matter,
that you care,
that the only thing you want is that feeling - there -

caught in the moonlight,
wrapped in each other’s arms,
I fool myself in to believing
that this is what I want.

your love isn’t broken,
it’s simply on pause,
and I fear its resumption,
for I will be gone.

I can’t sneak round in shadows,
nor stand by your back,
while you **** me in secret,
and snort strangers’ crack.

don’t tell me you want me,
then take it back,
over and over,
because I think I have cracked.

my head is soup,
left on the boil.
my body is dead foliage,
rotting under the soil.

today she is blue
and purple and green
and she wears glitter
beneath her skin

she comes close
only to run away
closer! to run away
again

but i will sit
(as always)
and watch her
dance that dance

(close far close far close far)

and smile
for i’ve yet to see
such beauty matched
anywhere in this world

and for it to come
so close to me

I spend nearly every waking moment
Thinking how you would find that thing funny
Or that thing sweet
Or that thing interesting.

if I could
peel back the skin
from the top of my head
and crack open my skull
and reach inside,

I would pull out shards of
a woman made of Glass.

if I could
break open the covering
to my deepest fears and
truest hopes,

I fear the fingerprints
I would find lingering
on every part and piece
would erase themselves -
edit and change - cease.

if I could draw
the nameless stars
onto the inside of my eyes

and take your hand
and let your fingertips
trace the outline of my
thoughts;

if I could stab a straw
into the grey matter,
I would ask you drink it,
just so you could taste...

if I could open my veins,
and tie the bloodied strings
to your chest;

if I could hold your hand,
and feel our fingers
tangle and entwine;

if I could crack open my ribcage,
I would let you climb in;

if, if, if...

Exisiting in yet another space between
Two worlds, two lives.
Searching for some new meaning -
Or running from old demons?

Trapped in the divide, between
This and that,
anseo agus ansin.

Torn, tattered, stuck in an lár:
Teanga, life, baile, love.

Falling to pieces

Clawing at - clawing at what’s left,
What is left?

Left is the eight months since you did -
Not that that affects me anymore
(He lies to himself),
It’s just a marker, a buoy -
keeps me on course.

Struggling to see what's right,
What is right?

"If it feels good..."
I am uncertain - but I don't feel peace.  
Conflicted, definitely, and yet I don’t cease

Meddling in things I have no right to meddle in:
lives and loves and people -
Human beings.

Can you not see the damage this will cause?
Not you, but those who you misuse -
You are an evil, twisted little boy

Trapped in this space between
Right and wrong;
My twisted actions and my convicted mind;
Him and me.

for how was I to know
what I was never told?

bhí coinne agam anocht,
chuaigh muid go Lus na Gréine.
bhí sí go hiontach.

labhraimid le chéile,
faoi gach rud agus níos mó.
bhí sí go hiontach.

tá sásta orm.

this is not a game I enjoy playing
yet with every new month
I seem to get drafted in for one more round.

the team is familiar -
well, isn’t it always?
same faces, same bodies, same minds.

some months we swap places,
and friend becomes foe,
treading the same well-worn earth
we have all grown so accustomed to.

some months we draw crowds,
(who can resist? what colourful,
lively displays!)

some months we draw pity
(for who would watch the pitiful playtime
of university educated adults),

but one thing is guaranteed -
from the game is set in motion,
till the results are declared -
we will always,
always,
draw blood.

"words mean nothing," you hope -
in your anger, bile, and tears.

you've poured out your heart
with paper, and pen, and keyboard, and playlist, and life.

moulding great civilisations and intricate portraits and new lives and companions and loves.

you sew yourself together,
scattered fragments from your terror,
weaving a tapestry to replace your skin.

peel off the layers,
scrape away your pain

patching up wounds with words:
bandages from poems,
dressings from that play.

burn, burn bright as the stars in the sky -
distant and dying and alone.

shine, shine like that light on your desk...

_____________


you edit, and change
constantly revising
the story in your head -

and I think that's okay.

of my life
of my meaning
of anything worth having.

I was not,
nor will I ever be,
good enough for you.

you are my best friend,
the person I would lay down everything for,
yet,

here i am,
(again)
having failed you
(again)
because I will  never be
(nor have I ever been)
good enough for you.

to you
words mean nothing,
yet to you,
words mean everything

ah I see
I see
I see

laethanta sásta,
botharanna salach ‘s
éan orágamaí

teanga álainn
san aer.

ar gach taobh:

daoine áille
agus
tír gálanta.

éistim,
mo shúile druidte -

tarraingím anáil dhomhain:

síochain

bruised sky,
heavy clouds,
swollen with summer rain.

carry me,
into the earth,
where there is no more pain.

anocht, d'ithim dinnéar le chairde:
bhí áthas orm! rinne mé dearmad orm féin.

scríobhfaidh mé rud gaelach gach lá,
fiú má tá drochghaeilge,
agus fiú má nach mhaith liom.

mar sin, tá mo theanga seo,
's úsaidim í!

look outside yourself
for twenty minutes,

breathe in the creation
find some inspiration.

not content to sit idly by
while the world speeds past:

green and grey and beautiful -
sodden with yesterday’s life
dropping off leaves and
into open collars.

leaky futures flood across
the backside of our minds.

cascade -
gently at first:

a trickle, a dribble,
a hand to hold.

lay down those sweaty palms
dry the crease of your smile,
for the world is full of wonder
if you stay for a while.

soaring peacefully,
far above our heads.

you keen and dive,
move and shake,
you dance.

careful now -
don't let go,
keep the string firm in your grasp

she is strong,
and she pulls hard -
lifting us up from our feet.

o! to be a ribbon,
fluttering in your breeze,
swirling and twirling beneath
your gaze.

o! to feel the tug
of that thin white line,
wrenching us forward,
dragging us on -

tied to the pit of my stomach,
you yank what's left of my insides out

oh but for a moment of sweet, foolish fun.

smouldering coals glow bright
with gentle touch.

a moment of young, lovely bliss,

a kiss shared -
a real one,
not the farce of hours prior -
from one who is interested.

conversation spills out,
and with it,
admiration, affinity,
some sense of belonging.

silly things, not heavy,
but light.
float above the damp night grass -
soar amongst the clouds gathering above.

push past the smoking remains of
the fire

up the stairs

laughter, smiles, warm skin

nobody's business but ours

I was content being the vessel.

where i let dust gather
(on the Word that breathes life)
i let myself become another:

broken, and twisted, and strange.
darkness coursing through my veins,
i slipped into a slumber,

into someone else's arms
and someone else's bed,
i crept - seeking what i once had.

now, as the Son rises in my life,
reclaiming what is his,
slaying the darkness again,

i find myself shocked,
by how much I had let the dust cover.

oh,

you're dead now -

i wasn't ready.

this is a start

time to rebuild and heal
time to return to my God
time to be love and life for people

no more confusion, no more angst

time for decisions and responsibility
time to grow up all over again

i’ll admit,
it feels a little like blackmail
when you say the things you say

i know you don’t mean it
but god, it hurts

it’s a knife twisting slowly in my gut.
it’s the floor vanishing underneath me.

broken apologies bubble out of my mouth,
passions unfettered and emotions confused.
where sweetness blossomed,
a bitter taste is left.

foot tangled in my own net,
pushing, pulling, struggling -
but only really constricting.

panic swirls in my chest,
a sourness in my throat,
waves crashing around my head.
down, down, deep into the pit,
weighed down by blind stupidity.

"pull me close, i promise i won't bite,"
whispered the razor from the cabinet,
"kiss? little kiss? small kiss for an old friend?
i hear you're into that these days."

"i really shouldn't," i reply, "i made a promise..."
______________

let it out

clean yourself up, scrub all the sin away,
let it drain into the shower basin -
cleaning, removing, making right!

warm and bubbling over, not too hot,
not yet

****.
hair in plug hole.
water isn't draining.

standing in filth. standing in sin.
look! look! you can see it!
it's all soapy and congealing!
rose-tinted bubbles and London grime!
______________

"hey, we've still got that old spark," flashing a grin

"i guess we do," i reply,
the heat already becoming unbearable under my broken skin

scatter my body among the stars

let me float nameless in the sky

so your eyes may never know me

and your mind will be whole and free


but I’ll feel your gaze

burning bright (as always as always)

from your bench in the garden

giving me whatever meaning you decide

oh god

never content:
withholding love out of what?
fear? envy? greed? sadness?

how i long for peace, stability and change...

a constant contradiction. barreling from heart to heart -
never finding ground long enough to lose myself
in someone else’s arms.

feelings stronger after i tear them out.

have to look at them in the air in front of my eyes.
bleeding, dripping their blood on the carpet,
heart beating in my hands.
to be clinically inspected and torn apart
only to discover that this was what i wanted all along.

like a tree, felled to tell its age,
dead, but finally understood.
too late to say,
“ah! look how old it’s branches, how deep its roots, how wonderful it’s shade!”

dead. dead and decomposing on the floor.

will i always glorify love lost over love in front of my eyes?

why does it feel this way
when I hear the songs you write

and why does it cut me so
to think of a lifetime of lost nights

by your side
by your side
by your side
bye

emotions collide in great crashing waves
as I career from sea to land to bed.
head full of static,
perpetually stuck
between channels.
white noise drenching
my soul in
rich and vibrant grey.

faint images trace across
my faulty mind,
and, for a second,
I catch a glimpse of —
a line must be drawn,
and it is here I must decide,

upon which pillow to lay my head.

hell is not hot enough
nor the abyss deep enough
to hide the ugliness of my sin -

so vast, so cruel, so sinister:
by my hand, I bring torment;
by my words, I scramble to justify:

"I- I am sorry,"
"I wish I hadn't,"
"I never meant this."

If it were true you would have never ******* done it,
yet here we are,
again,
as always,
in wreckage,
you selfish, horrible little boy.

that I feel like this
with you

because that is all supposed to be passed
yet I can’t help it:
when you laugh and you smile
and you dance and you talk.

sorry mo chara, I know I am foolish,
but for these nights, I can’t help
but hope each one won’t be the last

oh to sink into the earth!
sodden and rancid with rain;
sagging under the weight
of too much
after too long. Drowning,
under more of the same