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fiachra breac Jun 10
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
.
fiachra breac Jun 2018
.
how easy to fall
into old patterns
******* Conchúr
.
fiachra breac Aug 21
.
falling in love with a hurricane,
isn't nearly as dramatic as it sounds
better to rip the plaster off now
...
fiachra breac May 2018
...
She stood, with winter in her chest
And stars in her head.
fiachra breac Nov 2017
Ethiopian sunrises are very beautiful, it would appear.

I feel like I am always in Addis
but I've yet to have seen it in the daylight.
Arriving in darkness was no different from the norm,
but I have to say I have been pleasantly surprised by this morning's offering.

Addis appears to be surrounded by peculiar bunches of mountains
that pile up on top of one another.
The dark blue has slowly been replaced by sky,
then yellow,
then pink,
then grey,
then mountain bunch.

I didn't sleep much on the plane.
From about Greece it felt like an age since I had last seen Irish soil.
Why is that?
What is it about travelling that allows time and space to become so closely tethered to one another? It's been barely twelve hours since
I left Sasha, Mum, and Dad in Dublin but it may as well be a year.
I can only hope that this feeling does not overtake me
come the 28th April.
I don't want to have to desperately cling on to the memories of Kiwoko
as they are eroded by the aeroplane's slipstream.

The mountains are getting clearer now.
Varying hues of blue and grey imposed on the horizon.
Off to the East the sky is burning with morning
through thick, white terminal lattice.

There's an impossible to miss radiance
scorching the jagged edge of this Eastern range,
yet it lingers almost imperceptible from the surrounding sky -
as if everything Eastwards is ablaze.
fiachra breac Jan 2015
We sat on that old pier,
as the others crab-fished by.
I found my hands beneath me,
in an attempt to keep them dry.

I traced the outline of a mountain range
with my tired, tearful eyes,
and the sun pinned me to the concrete wall,
stripping me of any disguise.

The fresh wounds on my shoulder
still oozed their precious blood,
yet we talked of days still to come
and summers, oh so far ahead.

Yet for a moment I almost believed that
what I’d done had been undone
but you struck me with reality
and my walls came tumbling down.

We looked at each other,
in the wild, unsettling sun,
with the sea-surf sparkling blue
and voices of our distant friends

ringing of the new
and interesting discovery that one crab, no, two,
had broken through the green net -
maybe that was you.
fiachra breac Nov 10
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?
fiachra breac Dec 2017
Lie with me.
It's the only way.
Honestly,
What else must be said?

Lie with me.
Stop this torture in my head.
Only me! —
I've said more than I intend.

Lie with me.
Please, I thought you my friend.
You must see,
Just this once, never again.
fiachra breac Jun 2018
Where once feelings lay,
Only strange copies remain.
The sense of what should be experienced
Or what is supposed to be felt.

A reflection of the original -
Twisted and distorted -
Not yet beyond recognition,
But increasingly hard to decipher.

Familiarity  - with this place -
Is all that marks its irregularity.
Knowledge that this has been before
Signals it is happening again.

A worrying trend, when abnormality
Becomes the mundane.
You’d think that being depressed made you sad all the time but I’m not sad that often, merely empty. Blank and drifting between self-made disasters. I’m not sure if I orchestrate them so that I achieve maximum pain or if they just happen that way because I’m a **** person.

I’d like it all to stop now please.
fiachra breac Mar 2018
go maithe dia dom é!
is peacach mé,
agus tá bás uaim.

le do thoil,
sábháil dom uaim féin.
i tried it in english and i don't know if you heard, so here it is as Gaeilge because that's the language you made my heart speak.

god forgive me!
I am a sinner,
and I want death.

please,
save me from myself.
fiachra breac Jun 15
for how was I to know
what I was never told?
fiachra breac Jun 17
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.
wor(l)ds blur into each other

i detest what i am yet i do nothing to suppress it

_________________________________________

dated may 2018 // ó bealtaine 2018

strangely prophetic.
fiachra breac Nov 2018
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
fiachra breac May 2018
anois, anois,
it's not that bad

níl sé a lan dona,
ach gearr mé fhein
fiachra breac Jul 19
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
woman of glass. woman of the sea.
fiachra breac Mar 2018
I hunger for change -
for revolution -
for some end to this mundane

life. Seems so common,
so dull and expected and teenage.
I need to taste freedom

from myself, my
peers, my cramped little world.
There are new horizons to be seen,

and new people to meet, and
new memories to be made.
I love what has come before

but I need to believe,
there is more to come.
I'm normally not this pretentious, I promise, it's just I am on tenterhooks regarding the future. I have never felt this excited about seeing tomorrow - not in a long time. And don't worry, I'm still massively freaking depressed, it's just now I crave revolution... Ireland is not yet free, millions around the world are enslaved, the entire system is at breaking point, and I have friends interested in fixing it
fiachra breac Jun 20
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...
work in progress
fiachra breac Jun 15
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.
fiachra breac May 15
bruised sky,
heavy clouds,
swollen with summer rain.

carry me,
into the earth,
where there is no more pain.
bruised heart.
concrete friendships crumbled.
am I just a wave across a street?
maybe.
fiachra breac Jan 2018
bláthanna ghorma,
spéir dearg,
anam corcra.
Táim ag an foghlaim na Gaeilge. Is é mo chéad iarracht véarsa a scríobh i nGaeilge. Níl ach focail amhain agam, ach is maith liom é.
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.
fiachra breac Mar 2018
just know that as you drew me
(close)
you took a piece of my soul

and as you held me
(close)
I lost my heart in yours

so now we're at our close,
I will never again be quite
whole
*** is scary and I look back at our time together with fear.
friend, i hope you are okay
fiachra breac Jul 2018
Doyouthinkyoucansaveme?Fromwho?Me,you,reality?Doyouthinkyouhavefr­eedme?Towhat?Me,you,reality?Don’tyouseeyou’veenslavedme?Withwhat?­..............?
fiachra breac Feb 11
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
fiachra breac Mar 2018
dust gathers
on the Word that breathed life
into sun
and moon
and stars
fiachra breac Feb 16
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.
god, save me. I need you.

as you lift the scales from my eyes, to look upwards to your Son, I can see this past year stretched out behind me. I am angry at what I let myself become.

show me how to know that I am forgiven, because at the moment all I feel is shame, and that's not what I am called to. please release me from this, and let me be full of your joy and peace.

my little heart is aching, and I just need you Jesus
fiachra breac Dec 2014
EVERYWHERE I LOOK, I SEE GHOSTS.

At every tortured bend and darkened hallway, I see you;

And me. And the smiles up against the walls and the laughter jumping through your hair.

I see my insides tied tightly to the spots where we mumbled and fumbled and

took

our

time.

I see shadows of guilt stretched across our history and - like some queer carnival attraction - my Hopelessness cast them.

I feel broken memories catching in my eyes like old, worn hooks.

I taste laughter and love at the back of my throat:

Tickling some hardened part of me :

Making me to and fro’.

And as much as I suffer for the crimes I took joy in,

I know you,

And you suffer for it all the more.
fiachra breac Dec 2014
I struggle to breathe when I think about my actions.
I struggle to feel what my heart wants to feel.
I plot my own demise and think how best to word it.
Because sometimes my only gift seems to be my absence.

I give by taking away.
And it cuts me.

They wouldn't really mind - not for long anyway.
It's all just a mist, right? A vapour?
But I've got to get up every morning - regardless of my desires - because I'm still too scared to let go.
And if my gift is Absence, then I pray it happens quickly.
fiachra breac Aug 2018
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
I wouldn't worry too much,
mo chara,
it's not your greatest weakness.
fiachra breac Dec 2017
a heady cocktail to consume.

Me from a year ago -
I wouldn't have expected this.
I mean,
you gave me your first kiss.
fiachra breac May 28
laethanta sásta,
botharanna salach ‘s
éan orágamaí
happy days,
grubby roads and
an origami bird
fiachra breac Mar 2018
Home -
That's where we went on your birthday.
It didn't quite fit though, did it?
Because Home was right in front of me,
and four thousand miles away.

You tried to make it work,
and maybe I had given up,
but now I'm left unfettered,
and floating on til -

Yet home was far away,
and Home had never been closer.

I've been back too long
to miss my home,
but long enough to lose
Home.
i don't normally put this many up, but i ended up going through my drafts and decided it was time to air poems from ages ago that i never quite published - better out than in and all that. i also think i have a chronic fear of redacting parts of my life, and i find a strange beauty in painting my happiest moments alongside my mostly deeply shameful. a patchwork quilt of human experience - or maybe just a pretentious, very depressed teenager with no other outlet that is safe
fiachra breac Sep 2017
Nighttime sounds different here.
The birds sing.
The bugs hum.
From the other side of town comes the beating of some thumping, bumping drum.

Every night feels the same:
Birds sing,
Bugs hum,
From the other side of town comes the beating of some thumping, bumping drum.

At five o'clock the faithful are woken and told to face North, to a city far away.
While for us, we lie prostrate in our beds and turn towards that great black shadow of routine, broken sleep.
fiachra breac Sep 2018
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.
I spend nearly every waking moment
Thinking how you would find that thing funny
Or that thing sweet
Or that thing interesting.
fiachra breac Jun 2018
midnight cries for help go unheeded,
***** little secrets remain unchecked.
regret, misery, disgust -
at what i have done
and who i have become
(who have i become?)
“HELP!”
fiachra breac Apr 23
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
"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
fiachra breac May 2018
it wouldn’t be like me to
be travelling on yet another
train, across yet another
country to visit friends
They feature awfully heavily in my life as I travel to meet those I care about most
fiachra breac Jan 2018
Like the mist before dawn,
You exist in my memory
As something seen
But never grasped.
fiachra breac May 2018
is mo croí theanga í,
is an t-anam ó t-am dearmadta
gur ní cuimhnigh mé.

tá sé bhriste 's,
neamhiomlán,
ach is breá liom í fos

mar sin,
is mo bhaile í
agus tiocfaidh an lá
nuair tá mo theanga agam
my broken heart

it is my heart's language,
it is the soul forgotten in time,
that i cannot remember.

it is broken and,
incomplete,
but i love it still

because
it is my home,
and the day is coming,
when i will have my tongue.
--------------------------------------
I feel at home in a language my ancestors lost. I feel safe in words that don't come easy. I found peace and hope and healing in the seemingly strange sounds of my native tongue, and I will reclaim it, for myself, and my peers, and the generations who follow, because it is beautiful and it is ours.
fiachra breac Apr 2018
Is fuath liom mo fhoinn
Mar ní thuigim iad nó
Ní feidir liom?

Ba mhaith liom túsa
Agus do thine
Ach tá heagla ormsa.
fiachra breac Dec 2014
I miss Sleep’s gentle touch.
Her kiss against my ever greedy cheek; becoming swamped
in the tide of cover and quilt,
entangling myself in her dreams.


I long for her as each days drag on,
but forget her as I lie
in sweetest, softest sheets,
surrounded by the blackness of my mind.


She has a bitter streak, Sleep, that is.
For she drags me down to icy black depths as I let my anchor loose.
She holds me in writhing hands that
poke, and ****, and bruise.


When my self resurfaces - at the beep of new day.
My soul gasps for air
in the screaming, sweating freedom,
when I break from her night-time snare.
9.12.14 // 1.13am
fiachra breac Jan 2018
time I missed a lecture
because I was too sad to breathe

duvet-weight pinned me to the mattress
and dread washed over my head
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.
ó ag siúl abhaile inné
fiachra breac Feb 14
oh,

you're dead now -

i wasn't ready.
I should have visited you.
Eight months...

Selfish, pathetic little boy.
fiachra breac Dec 2017
blurred bodies, blurred faces, blurred lines
careering wildly from floor to seat to bar.
Can't we just sit quietly -
minding nobody's business but our own -
talking soft
and long -
not caring what goes on out there?

but of course, there are conversations to be had:
"how's you?"
"how's work?"
"how's your dad?"
and specific moves to perform.
It's tightly choreographed - yet we pretend it's teenage chaos.

and in the perfectly controlled mayhem,
I lose sight of you,
but I can't shake your presence:
I can feel you, but I dare not look to confirm.
So I slip into the bodies, the faces, the blur,
and try and lose myself out here.
fiachra breac Mar 2018
Tangled bodies on a sofa
on the wrong side of town
Telling stories from when we last met -

Too close?
Shared experiences, shared regrets -
Feelings that only we both seem to get.

You move first, pulling my face to yours,
Do we stop? No,
I go down,
On this strange sofa on the wrong side of town.
———————————————————
Shared desire,

Bodies heaving against each other

Bodies looking for souls
Souls in need of bodies
Using each other to feel something again
In a shared pursuit of meaning
———————————————————
Be it cosmic self-harm,
Or existential release,
In this most intimate of mistakes,
I feel strangely at peace.
———————————————————
this is not what i do...
fiachra breac Apr 2018
The more I struggle, the harder it is to break free.
She has me

Pinned. Arms above my head,
Hands clasped -

I don’t know how to pray anymore
Or maybe I just got lazy
Or maybe You stopped listening
Or maybe I stopped wanting

But silence stretches to heaven
From my angry, hellbent mouth,
And my ears are plugged with wax -
I’ve got sirens here on earth.

I can’t escape the weight of You -
Not that I want to, it’s just
That having her on top of me,
Well,

Another breath catches in my throat,
Her hands tighten their grip -

Searing white fingers wrapped around my neck,
Softly uttered moans escape my lips.
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