[x]

Why I Do What I DoMusic.

Forming bodies in the air,
Swirling lines of swirling thoughts,
Melding into one.

One fiddler.
One bow.
One violin.

And who am I to judge you?
As I sit here, allowing myself to become inspired by your art,
Being a writer I am no one.
Being a musician you are both
Everyone and everything.

Your lips echo of talent
Mine cry mournfully in despair.

It is nothing but nothing.
The point at which things never happen.
One day I will be the point,
For things never happen at the tip of a pen.

I think.
Silhouettes mirrored in a copper licked dance,
Whilst I watch in awe.

But when you read what I've written,
When you feed your

The Giant ClicheIn a perfect world we'd be sitting together on a cloud,
The sun's light would shimmer on your copper licked hair,
And you'd look to me endearingly with your wide intelligent eyes,
Slowly opening your lips, you'd ask,

'Can we ever be together...?'

But I'd just shake my head, stand up and
Leave our little sky island,
Abandoning you to the hate and the pain
Of loneliness and ridicule.

But that's in a perfect world,
And the world is very rarely perfect.

A New Animal FarmWhere I live children scream in the night.
No one cares.
Where I live girls cry alone in bathrooms.
No one cares.
Where I live half the boys are thugs.
No one cares.
Where I live everyone is on drugs, go figure.
No one cares.
Where I live I can't even leave the house without getting my face decorated in bruises.
No one cares.

Where I live if a celebrity gets a little sniffle,
Or the newspapers are offering free money,
Or if somebody they hate wins that competition on TV,
Everyone cares.

The world has become bleak,
People follow the media like sheep and
Dutifully bleat when needed.

Am I the only who cares...?

This is No ConfessionDark,
Heavy,
Blooming with black
Light.

The blunt sharp words,
No comfort,
Hitting down on me,
As though I am the dead meat on

A butcher's slab.

There was so absolution,
There was no reason,
This is no confession,
To ghostly ears.

For I have nothing to confess.

You've broken me,
And I hope I haven't broken you.
All I wanted....
All I wanted....

Brass owls on silver chains,
And notebooks,
Covered in artful scrawl.
Big, Victorian style pocket watches.
I know you love them.

Irish words sung to an Irish beat,
About love everlasting.
And I thought we could be like that.

Hanging from the ceiling was a dream catcher,
Stu

Trouble and StrifeFaces swimming in distorted vision,
Echoes of voices meet my ears, yet I ignore the demons' calls
Lest I become distracted from you, sitting beside me
In the darkness, under the stairs,
X marks the spot, and that spot is on my lips, down

Come his, and they
Alight upon my
Mouth, his breath reeks of alcohol, and so does mine, but the action brings such sweet
Pleasure, which sweeps through me, my body and soul.
But life is never that perfect,
And trouble and strife, hand in hand, always
Lie, right around the corner... Their darkness smothering any
Light in my heart.

Broken Mirror ShardsWhispering.
Malicious.
Nasty little words.

Waves of paranoia.
Paranoia and hurt.
Like minute worms they bore into my mind.

Never letting me go.
Never letting go.
Grasping claws.

Greedy claws.
And you.
Yes, you.

I see you laughing at me.
Murmuring stolen words into her ear.
Words you stole from me.

Now you've destroyed my life.
My sanity lies shattered.
Shattered in broken reflective mirror shards.

Shards across my bedroom floor.
My palms bloody from clenching them
To feel pain.

To feel something.
Something.

Glass coloured with red,
And my face.
Staring.
Staring back at me.

You.
Me.
Echoing voices.
Broken mirror

A True Story.I reckon it's time for a story. No one will read it anyhow, and it needs to be written.
This I suppose is a story about a boy, and – to give you fair warning – he sucks at prose. His name was Michael. A plain, if somewhat overused name, but normal all the same.
But the boy did not grow to suit his name, not at all.
Dark things began to press down on his mind. Dark, gruesome things. The doctors all told him he was too thin, they all said he should eat more. Unfortunately for Michael the doctors were so concerned with his body that they paid little or no attention to his mind. This was a fatal mistake, for it was Michael's mind

For God's sakeFor god's sake, I love you.
I
Really
Do.
Yet you insist on ignoring my texts,
You insist on kissing all those other girls in front of me.
You insist on completely blanking me.

You, you and your quick mouth, have made my life a misery...
Rumours, they filter through every other molecule in the air and
Sure enough
Take root in teenage brains.

Because of you,
A bright purple gruesome rose blooms upon my eye.

Because of you an even gorier wound lies heavy on my heart.

Hollow. Dead. Gone.
Copper. Brown. Hair.
Alcohol.
Beds.
Violins.
Owls.
Life.
Death.
Confusing.
Me.
And everyone else.

And everyone else

Somewhere to EscapeI just wanted somewhere I could escape. Escape from you. When I moved town, you moved too. Sometimes, when the rain falls heavily, I can see your silhouette behind me. Stalking me. Always there.
The memory of you burns my mind like acid. And, although you died many years ago, I cannot hide from it. You've well and truly wormed your way into my head, little sister. I loved you. I hope you knew that. I never meant to kill you.
Like bile, the guilt wells up in my throat. That day should never have happened. That day I threw your doll out onto the tracks. That day you ran out to get it back. That day your shoe got stuck between the

The Shadow SketchesI am being taunted. Taunted by the shadow sketches, they are old pictures and images, flickering towards me from the past. Each day they remind me of the mistakes I have made, of the wrongs I have done, and, if it wasn't for you dear, these shadow sketches would slowly drive me mad.
However your presence in my life shows me that I have done some good. Because, surely, if I had been overly bad then I wouldn't have been blessed with somebody like you? Your smiles, your insults, your brown eyes, they are the only things that can banish the shadow sketches from my mind. Your soul and laughter is the fire which burns through them, blackeni

Meet Me in The Copper FieldsSo meet me in the Copper Fields, my love,
Where words wither in the wind and all
You can feel is my hand in yours,
Cry your tears into the sea and
Dance with me in the Copper Fields....
~Michael Cleary

Fickle in Strength'It is a fragile thing.'
She looked up, 'What?'
'My love,' he replied, 'It is fragile.'
Her lip twitched slightly, as she fought the smile, 'How so?'
'It's fickle enough to last forever,' he said decidedly, before pausing, 'but strong enough to break into pieces when the hard winds blow.'
The girl nodded, 'Yes. I know.'

Yesterdays Embers in StratfordLife can sometimes burn white hot, and be licked by the petal-soft flames of love. However, when that delicate fire dies down, we are left with nothing but a handful of glowing embers.
And the problem is that these embers still bite with fire's teeth, and they eat down into our skin to scold the virgin sinew of our heart. The embers cannot be thrown away, for to do so would be to dispose of one's very own soul. You see, a soul is simply an ideal, and no ideal can ever be rubbished. So we must keep the embers close to us, and in some cases we allow them to gnaw away through our chests until we are nothing but hollow dreams of a gaseous deat

She Should've Said YesShe was greeted by a warm smile, "Say you love me..."
      The girl bit her lip, "I don't think I can."
The smile faltered, "But.... why not...?"
      "I know that you love somebody else more," murmured the girl, the hard words sticking in her throat.
There was silence, before, "If I have you then I won't need him."
       She was dubious, "You'll always need him."
"No, I won't," A glimmer of a grin danced once more upon the lips, "Because your words will guide me away from copper sin and although my eyes are grey and apt to wander yours

Leather Bound Birds When I met her, it was raining, so I offered my umbrella.
'Here,' I said, touching the girl's wet shoulder lightly, 'Borrow this.'
A small smiled fluttered over her face, 'No,' she murmured, 'The rain, it's inspiring.'
I didn't understand, 'But, but... You're drenched!'
Slowly, she turned to look at me, her eyes were heavy with pity, 'I cannot take up your offer,' she said quietly, 'When the sky is mourning the loss of summer it is only kind to suffer with her. The summer is her child, and every year he vanishes. If we allow ourselves to taste the agony of a grieving mother on our lips, and recognize it for what it truly is, then w

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Submitted: June 30, 2011
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Things Can Only Get Better

by ~Mica-Cleary, Jun 30, 2011, 11:26:41 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Things can only get better,
Those words, on rose pink lips,
Tumble into my memory,
A night with Eliza on the karaoke machine,
Microphones, drunken stumbling.

Things can only get better,
She never wore make-up,
Because she was one of those rare creatures
Who looked better without it,
My heart aches but

Things can only get better,
Right?
Dubious dark thoughts crawl sluggishly
About my skull, but I know that the old cliché is true,
She wouldn't want us to be sad.

Eliza's gone now,
Her pain snuffed out, like a dwindling candle flame
Kept doused with morphine,
She hadn't been sleeping,
Just dying.

Dying slowly.

Her heart breaking tiny piece by tiny piece.

And even though she is gone,
She'll sing, smile and laugh,
Whenever I sing, smile and laugh,
Because I grew up with her,
And now I am her.

Things
                  I'm strong enough to smile in the face of death
Will
                 I'm proud enough to walk outside and visit the places she loved
Get
                I love her enough to cry until my eyes hurt but
Better
               I won't be smothered by pain. Not anymore.

Things Can Only Get Betterby ~Mica-Cleary

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

I hate writing about real life stuff, it makes me feeling like I'm exploiting someone. But it genuinely helps me get my thoughts in order.
Writing this has helped me.
I was writing to ~Lemon711 earlier about this song I half remembered but didn't, so asked my mum where I'd heard it, and she looked at me as though I was stupid.
Mum: Are you trying to be funny!?
Me: No....? I genuinely don't know where I've heard it, or if it even exists...?
Mum: It's that one you sung with ELiza at new years on the karaoke machine!

Well, shit. I should remember that.
I only remember the one line of the song, and it reminds me of Eliza. A lot.
I'm drunk now, I was drunk when I wrote this. Vodka's a great healer, but that's why the poem is so bad.

~everdeen13 Aug 15, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

You've helped me get over the loss of you

~MissMarco Jul 31, 2011 Hobbyist Photographer

This is lovely ..
when people write about real life things, or past experiances, i feel like i connect more to their words. i'm glad you chose to share this

!StolenIndigo Jul 1, 2011

so very deep

~Mica-Cleary Jul 3, 2011

thank you

and for the faves

!StolenIndigo Jul 3, 2011

you're welcome (:

~sugar-coatedinsanity Jun 30, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

You shouldn't hate writing about real life stuff and no it doesn't feel like you're exploiting someone. Poems are a way to express yourself, when you can not do it face to face with someone and it does make you feel better sometimes, when you get everything out of your head.
And this poem is beautiful

~Mica-Cleary Jul 1, 2011

Thank you

You've made me feel better about writing this

~sugar-coatedinsanity Jul 1, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

Really?

I'm glad

~Mica-Cleary Jul 3, 2011

yeas

~sugar-coatedinsanity Jul 3, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

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