My friend tells me that each morning
she awakens with suicide and coffee
on her mind, then she has a smoke.
I want to tell her how my mind
entirely bypasses the coffee -
how suicide is the first thought,
second thought, all day and night thought.
I want to tell her that if I must stay,
a simple razor blade will do...
criss-crossing over old scars, gashes
just deep enough to bleed out the pain,
or awaken the senses and escape numbness.
I want to see my blood trickling down, down, down
my thighs or arms like red rivers creating their own pathway
through my white valleys of flesh.
But instead, I sit silently, coffee in hand,
swallowing her pain as I stifle my own.

I've pondered why we bring it out whenever the sun shines,
We crack it open, share it out, whiskey, *****, beer, wine,
We look for an excuse, a reason why we drink it,
A christening, a birthday, hell any old chance to sink it,
"Oh look, our Biddy just recieved her shiny little car",
So we get the grog in, the fridge contents won't go that far,
"Poor seany lost his job today, let's cheer him up with whiskey",
The crowd it grows, before ya know, we're all a little frisky,
"And Clodagh decorated her room, ah look, she must be knackered,
Let's have a girly night, and open wine, with cheesy crackers",
So raise a glass, a mug, a goblet, even a champagne flute,
Or even that funny german thingy that measures a beer foot,
Let's toast whatever happens, be it good, or be it bad,
The alcohol will serve us all, ah good times there will be had...

                                             SLAINTE

I can see it
intriguing smile, flirty eyes,
hair just so, to where it falls across my face.
My breath caresses the mic as if
a snake charmer wooing a cobra.
The crowd leans in
ever so slightly
in one uniform motion
but each are unaware of the others.
Confident, charming
I own them for that moment
and everything I say matters.
Maybe too much.
They chant with me
cult-like in rhythm
and memorization-of idle words
profanely displayed on billboards,
websites, anything at all.
They drink it in- starving to be inspired.
They are without, and I’ve convinced them I’m with.
With what? With consumerism,
battling to control their
next poorly placed dollar?
with knowledge that they don’t have?
Why don’t they have it? Have they tried?
No, of course not. This liberty island has
given up on the American dream; hoping
it can be fought from a prostrate position
on an over-stuffed couch from their
over-stuffed mouths.
They’ve been stuffed with too much power,
too much misplaced freedom.
America, you are no longer free. You chain yourself
with entitlement and ownership.
You force your ideals on any too weak
to speak up for their own. You have turned
into one giant, fifth grade girl fight
with hair-pulling, pinching and screams.
You don’t even know why you fight anymore,
do you?

In the mist of the morning
I lose my way
Through the haze and the fog
I must find a way
Dutiful and progress are my lock and key
The day wears on
My soul wears thin
My shadow I cast is long and proud
Am i the only one
Who is happy to be alive
I'm driven by no purpose
No sense of self release
My language i speak
Is that of the murdered
the meager and the weak
The universe in infinite
our lives are so very short
to live a full life
on this plane we call earth