Is fuath liom mo fhoinn
Mar ní thuigim iad nó
Ní feidir liom?

Ba mhaith liom túsa
Agus do thine
Ach tá heagla ormsa.

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.

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.

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

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

oh,

you're dead now -

i wasn't ready.

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.

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.
———————————————————

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.

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.

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.

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.

teanga álainn
san aer.

ar gach taobh:

daoine áille
agus
tír gálanta.

éistim,
mo shúile druidte -

tarraingím anáil dhomhain:

síochain

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

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!

soft lights, warm skin, our moans -
we steal breaths from the space between
our chests

just you, and me, and the fleeting feeling
of freedom or peace or passion
to be each other

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 know you're hurting, sweetie, and it's breaking my heart. I keep seeing all these horrible things in my sleep and it's scaring me.
I want to tell you so much, but I'm afraid I'll hurt you again - and I cannot do that.

I wanted to **** myself, and I don't know how I'll tell anyone that, let alone my best friend. I prayed for the end; I knew how I was going to do it: and then an angel showed up.

There are moments when it feels like it's better, but sometimes, they hurt the most, because they are so fleeting.
I don't know if it'll ever get better, darling, but sleep tight, you hear?
Sleep...

Don't you go worrying about me, I'll be fine. It's probably just a phase. I'll be fine in a few weeks, or a month, or a year.
Chin up, darling, you're doing great.

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.

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

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.

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.

tá brón orm...

I'm sorry,
but, God, there is a sadness on me.

I know you have begun your move on,
and I promise I am happy for you -
but I have more work left in my heart
agus dúnéaltach mór.

you consume my every thought,
burning your image across my mind
and setting my soul on fire.

i feel free by your side -
in your arms, under you,
caught in your embrace.

we will blaze bright
into the night time sky
and though our time is short,
the passion, the feeling, the liberty
will outlast our very selves.

I stole your smile.
It used to sit right between your lips, remember?

It tasted like home.
It used to fill my dark mornings, remember?

It looked like love.

It used to tell me why it loved me.
It used to crack your face in two.
It used to show up when I did.
But nowadays, I only ever see it go.

Of all the crimes that I've committed,
there is one I detest the most.
Because where once it sparked a fire
within me, now it's just another ghost.

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.

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.

Between what I am supposed to feel
And the desires of my heart.

"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.

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

a fumble,
a moan,
two bodies,
a home.

the whispers,
the gasp,
two people,
at last.

a stumble,
a groan,
two endings,
alone.

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

And things had never been so good!
Well, that's what I was supposed to say.

I had broken months before,
But I was too frightened to let you in.
So as we came together,
Something else joined us there.

I'm afraid that I went first,
and strayed further than we meant to,
But something took a hold of us,
And suddenly we were spiralling

Further and further from our intended path
until we crash-landed:
bodies, exposed,
souls, in tatters,
us, in ruin.

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:

"****."

was it worth it?
to feel something? just for ten ******* minutes,
to feel something?

i can't look at you, Conchúr,
you repulse me.
every crocodile tear and shark-*******-smile,
with your smug little laugh,
and your meaningless words -

you weave them together,
constructing vast fantasies and empty promises -
how many people have you trapped,
in your wide and selfish net?

oh! but you've always been so good with words.
and may that be the death of you,
because you deserve hell for your sins:
one eternity is not black enough for creatures like you.

lies, lust, pain - that's your bread and butter.
you never were good at much else,
but ****** you are good at hurting
those around you, the ones who care.

she was right to get rid of you,
especially when she did,
because look how far you've come!

when was it... only last night you tried again,
didn't you? you thought no one was looking,
but they all have eyes, and someone will find out.

they'll see your scars (remember to keep it below the belt next time, buddy, okay?),
or they'll see the blood (god, how it gushed after all that dancing - i thought you were a goner),
or they'll find your pathetic little poems,
gathering dust on some forgotten corner of the internet,
where your heart is too bare,
and its blackness is plain to see.

what then? will it be worth it then?
to express something? just to try and put your life in words,
to express something?

"oh look at you, you poor thing,
you've been so hard done by..."

*******.

this is your fault,
and you deserve every last ounce of hurt.

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?

you are gone but fragments remain -
lodged in my eyes, catching my throat,
digging deep into my chest.

i cover up; laughter and smiles
and bad jokes and new music
and new interests and new people
and new plans and new futures

but those old pieces of you remain -
buried behind my moans, my groans,
tied tightly to the back wall of my brain.