Thursday, 22 December 2011

Bits and Pieces

Your Face

Oh darling, your mouth tight
Cold blade shivering with your pulse
Reflection in your eyes of the steel
Horrid renditions of sonnets
Fall from my lips like diamonds
Strewn around this corpse you call a body
The knife reaches in and tugs
At the gap under your cheekbones
Draws blood from your beautiful face
Draws blood from your beautiful face

For Eabha

I have a little sister called Ava
Who’ll miss you a lot if you leave
All she wants is a JCB digger
A few Barbie’s and puppies, you see

She wants every star in the sky
The moon wrapped in radiant blue
Three suns shining as nightlights
A tree to catch sweet morning dew

A fairy she wants as her sweetheart
Unicorns to run in the field
The night contained in a small glass vial
That she decides when to set free

She may seen spoilt to you Santa
But she just believes wishes come true
So don’t let her grow up too quickly
Allow her to keep believing in you

Couple Of Disasters

The sun kissed me
Burnt my soul up
Now I am rotten
I infect everyone

Wounds of glass
Skin ripped off
Torn up memories
Skip in line

Keep making jokes
Laughing at nothing
Expense is paid
In fingernails

Don't Mention Names

I walk the line to reality
Perchance your wings crisp
Fall your feathers gently on me
I kiss the nape of your neck
Count to ten to bring myself home
I want you, I want to keep you
Never let the rope go

We are two girls
Pretending to be lovers
Two boys
In love with one another

I have this string of pearls
Swallowed by the sea
Fog on your lips
Our own brand of sickness
Skin pulled tight
Perfection written
A brand of love for the fallen

Friday, 16 December 2011

The Rain

 Note: I suggest reading Naturally first, then Hunted then this.

I fling open the fridge and there’s nothing except scotch.
I pour myself a glass and swirl the liquid, drinking deeply, it burns as it hits my empty stomach.
The cupboards are filled with cat food, the cat is fat and I am rake thin. My ribs have started to become more defined through my skin. My eyes have that sunken look. My mother always used to tell me to remember to eat. At her wake last year I ate nothing from the buffet, the guilt was unbearable. She never understood why I never left the house, why I never had any friends. I never told her how much they frightened me. I’m sure she’s looking down at me now, crying at me. She’d have wanted me to leave here, to meet people and to fall in love. The feeling when they look at me is unbearable but I try for her. Every now and then I’ll go to a bar and I’ll talk to people but only the younger ones ever stay. They stay because they don’t notice how I never look them in the eyes, never do anything but nod and agree with them.
I drink a few more glasses and the cat plants herself in front of me, begging for attention. She is a whore for attention. She purrs and the silence is mellowed, I feel less alone.

I walk to the grocery store. My slept in clothes and 3 day stubble is drawing looks from girls. They giggle as I pass, give me little glances and then turn to talk to their friends. The grocery store is nearly empty, there’s one lone women at the counter. She coughs and scans cereal for an old woman whose nails have been bitten bloody. My eyes hone in on the nicotine stains on the check out girls hands, she’s not unattractive but she’s nothing special. She’s seen me before and has never taken much notice. I wander around the store, throwing food into my basket. I buy some cheap scotch and a copy of The Readers Digest. The girl scans them, absentmindedly. She has no interest in me and her accent is foreign as I hand over my money.

I leave and the girls are still there, across the street. A torrential rain of giggles comes from their perfectly glossed lips as I walk by.

Thursday, 15 December 2011


 Note: I suggest you read Naturally before this

I find my lighter under my table and I flick it on and fizzle the ends of my hair, the smell of burning protein drives me insane so I throw open the kitchen window. Winter air biting at me as I sit and shiver, too proud to get a coat.  The cat climbs out and goes on an adventure down the garden path, flicking her tail from side to side in slow, careful motions.  I wrap my arms around myself and go to the window to watch her, amber coat glinting in the frost.

The doorbell rings, it is ignored.

The cat lies low and leans down, shaking. Eyes wide, pupils dilated. Ready. I’m transfixed, fascinated.

The doorbell is still ringing and then they start knocking at the windows, a voice shouts.

I’m still watching as she runs forward. Paws light and soft on the snow, teeth sharp, claws extended and then in her paws is a starling. Neck broken on impact but its still jolting around slightly, I get violently sick into the sink underneath me and I sit back down as the cat begins to play with the poor dead creature.  I plant my face down in a stack of notes and close my eyes.

The knocks on the door stop as I drift off.


Wandering through the night, I listen to her speak in muffled tones through her scarf. Eyes full of love peer at me, vivid green, willing a response from me. I murmur and nod my head, that seems enough for her so she continues. The stories blur into each other, a 16 year old girl talking with blunt emotionless phrases. This 20 year old boy walking beside her, smiling at the right intervals. She looks at her watch and lets out a shriek, she was meant to be home hours ago. She has missed the last bus and is fluttering about, I offer her my couch as she wanted me too and when we get to mine the couch isn’t where she goes. The cat is unsettled as we throw ourselves onto the bed, limbs flailing.

I dream afterwards. Darkened room and in the corners, shadow tendrils reach out and tug at my seams.
Opening, eyes everywhere. The whites of their eyes bright in the shadows. Moving from left to right, side to side. One body moves out from the shadow, it's the girl. One body moves forward, It's the girl. Her school uniform ruffled and torn. Her eyes white, no pupil. Blood streaming down her legs onto her glass slippers. She opens her mouth to scream, inhuman noise fills the room; collapsing it around us. Many more girls around her begin their song. Their teeth fall to the floor, every one makes a noise on the tiles, giving a tune to the screams. Their bones shatter and they collapse. Broken, contorted limbs pointing all at me.

Waking up the next day. See the stained bed covers and I groan, I shake her awake and escort her outside and from her mouth flies question after question.
I ring for a tax, shove her into it, and she cries and cries--peering out the window like a dog going to the pound. I walk back inside and make coffee. Settling into a monotonous day of coffee, editing and nicotine. The cat still hasn’t forgiven me and is sulking in the corner, makes pitiful meow noises through her fangs.

Monday, 12 December 2011

Being Weird and Things That Annoy Me

There are many things I can say to emphasise this point, I could say we are all creeps, all weirdo’s and that is the truth. We are all weird, we all have that guilty pleasure, we all have that crutch no one knows of. The problem with me is that my weirdness and oddness, is displayed clearly and openly for the world to judge. That doesn’t mean you can call me a freak, that doesn’t mean you can point me out for ridicule. I am who I am and I will always be this way so stand with me, stand up for us. The weirdo’s and creeps that make up this entire world, don’t let idiots drive you away.
There are days when nothing annoys me, but those are rare. They’re diamonds in the rough of my life and usually only come to me after copious amounts of scotch. Usually everything bothers me, how the sun hits my face, bothers me. How the cold makes me lick my lips, bothers me. Life itself, it bothers me. I was not who created it, therefore the world, the system, everything, bothers me.

Life is said to glitter. We’re meant to be grateful for the man-made existence we are dealt. We are meant to accept that if you are not normal, you are ridiculed. That if you are too subversive, you are punished. Where to be different is seen as so horrific? Everyone is different, yet we try and try and work so very hard to be the same. Trained in schools and jobs to become mechanical sheep for the broken society that humankind has created.

You know what really annoys me? The black and white views of the people in charge, annoy me. The stereotypes perpetrated every day by the media. The fact the government can choose to say that the way I live life is too abnormal to be given the same standing as the airbrushed, vacuum packed people whom they think are normal. There is no normal, there is no one like you, stand up and be proud of that and tell the assholes, the government, the bastards who think that you are wrong, that you. Beautiful, broken, untouchable you is worth something more than where you fit in their scale

Sunday, 11 December 2011

Lust Said To Love


This pavement is mine
The trees, birds, noise
Belong to me
I own this place
I’ll make you leave

I don’t have time
For your declarations
I have many fish to catch
The sea of memories
Picked clean

Lust said to Love

Love is a nasty word
It’s filled with promises
With whispers and secrets
I’ve had it and I’ve lost it
War is closer to love
Than peace could ever be
Love is accepting madness while
Dripping in ugly.

Love is boredom
It’s paying your bills on time
Choosing names for future children
Celebrating the anniversary
Of your sexual sobriety

Lust has the beauty of sunrise
The glances of hypnotised girls
It’s tainted but simple
Scripted on bathroom walls
Caressing it’s own skin
It’s selfish and satisfying
Fingers skipping on your chest
Sweat falling from your hair
A single smirk, a slow walk
A disappearing act

Lust has many faces
Many names and stories
Remember little but regret nothing
It’s a waiting game
That you must always win