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FelixI remember,
Brown hair licked
With copper and those eyes
Deep and blue and searching into my soul.

Lucky.
But the day I met you I became cursed and lost.
Swallowed by music and at loss....

Lost in those sea blue eyes,
Lost in those deep oceans
As you kissed me in that room with the
Swirling dust mote fairies

Dancing to the song of a plucked violin.

And then the lifeboat disappeared,
And you sunk down,
Away from me.

Into the deep waters of misunderstanding and
Modern society.
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
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.
Things Can Only Get BetterThings 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 hear
Shattered and ConfusedRound and brown,
Glimmering pools of intelligence
Set against pale skin.

Deep and blue,
Sparkling with a smile which
Has not yet reached your lips.

Either way,
You have both shattered me,
You
             Walking down
                                        School stairs
                 
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
She Talks To HerselfWhy do you torture me so?
 It's as if you have my warm, pulsating heart in the palm of your ice-cold hand. That alone would cause a simple pain but you take it one step further. You won't stop squeezing, pressing, digging, and so you carry on until you've got me trapped beneath your fingernails. Trapped under them with all the dirt and all the acid-green grime of this modern society.
 Why do you interrogate me so?
 Pulling, you try to tease weary words from my brain to place within your own clear jam jar. Ensnared in the glass they cannot fly, they cannot do harm nor good. Mournful words attached to a printed page are read once, and th
I Will Remember You ChildI remember you child,
Your lips blue and cold against mine
As I tried to kiss you back to life.

Your body freezing,
Your body drenched,
Hugged only by water's cruel fingers now.

You fell in love with the lake,
No one could save you
As your small, innocent body was caressed.

Caressed by arms not belonging to me,
Caressed by the lake.

And the crowd gathered and watched and wailed and wished it had not been so.
But it was so.
Just me, an empty drenched shell that was once you, and
Shapes, swimming in blurred tears.

I will remember you child,
Your lips blue and cold against mine
As I tried to kiss you back to life.
*****
I rem
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.'
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
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
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
Train of thoughtNo one listens. No one cares. No one bothers. No one shares.
I feel as though I am alone. I am alone, no one to hold.
No one to love. Only to pray. Start to pray for a better day.
Do I believe? When it suits me. It doesn't when I'm feeling free.
Are we free, or are we trapped? Forcibly held back.
Until we lose track of Time. Those we've lost will come back to us.
Come back to us, we miss you very much. Lies are told, and we listen.
No one listens. No one learns. Learning is part of Death marching on.
Death marches on into Oblivion. Oblivious, never really knowing.
Knowing how to stand on two hands? Must be important.
Why else would
RangeI carress the piece of metal in my hands
With joy, like a mother and her child,
Before I clench close enough to strangle
But do not choke the willing victim yet.
I find the grooves created for my fingers
And tighten as raw power drives me on.

Bloodlust rises, first in my aching knuckles
And then into my mind and plants my feet
Like roots into cement, I will not waver.
My knees don't quake or tremble as they bend
To make of me a tower, calm; unshaking.

I brace against my shoulder for the blow--
The one that makes me feel alive again,
That travels from my fingers to my arm
And off into the floor like grounded lightning.
The rumbl
Browse More Like This

More from ~Mica-Cleary

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.
Things Can Only Get BetterThings 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 hear
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

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×

This is No Confession

:iconmica-cleary:

Dark,
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,
Stuffed full of black, iridescent feathers,
And I can relate to that dream catcher,
Because my heart feels as though
Pierced
By the shafts of many black, iridescent feathers.

Recollections of the mirror,
The large mirror,
And the reflections of me, me and you, together.
A vague flicker of a nacreous dream,
Never to be.

And yet,
And yet still.....

I can see a better time, when all our dreams come true.....

187

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:iconmica-cleary:

This is No Confessionby ~Mica-Cleary

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I can't even write any more
©2011-2013 ~Mica-Cleary
Category: Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

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Submitted on
June 10, 2011
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:iconjinnymcg:
~JinnyMcG Jul 25, 2011
;_;


So heavy with emotion.
Reply
:iconlemon711:
!Lemon711 Jun 10, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
:cries:

I don't know what to say.
Hang on, I need to note you.
Reply
:iconmica-cleary:
~Mica-Cleary Jun 11, 2011
Okays.
Reply
:iconhollyjguilfoyle:
Mood: Love !HollyJGuilfoyle Jun 10, 2011
This is a good poem! I like it, and if you ever need any kind of inspiration for writing, take a look at my poetry XD people tell me I'm a great writer, so...I think I could inspire you, maybe! I can give you some ideas, if you'd like! Or at least help you develop your own...XD
Reply
:iconmica-cleary:
~Mica-Cleary Jun 10, 2011
Thank you for the fave and for the advice and kind words :hug:
Reply
:iconhollyjguilfoyle:
Mood: Joy !HollyJGuilfoyle Jun 10, 2011
You're very welcome and keep writing, you!
Reply
:iconmica-cleary:
~Mica-Cleary Jun 10, 2011
:aww: Thanks and will do!
Reply
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