I just sit here thinking You’re cheating on me again It’s how you acted last time The same as it’s ever been Don’t wanna go ballistic What’s inside your head? Why don’t you just tell me Who’s been sleeping in that bed

“You own your own burial plot, but you don't own your home,” he'd said, and I couldn't help but agree.

My cell phone shakes; it’s my father’s voice calling my name - so far away - with long distance crackle and panic on the line.

I hope I don’t have aches and pains in heaven Cause here on Earth I ache in all my parts These old bones don’t have the spring they used to I sure hope heaven has electric shopping carts

Can't please everyone / Or sail in all directions / Sail on / Stay the course / Still the ill-pleased storms come / To suck the wind from my sails

I took a lover on Ibiza either because he was clean-smelling or because he had a hotel room and there were none to be had.

She smiles at strangers,

She wakes up sad. She can't shit. She spreads out the foil. no creases. folds it in half. She puts the stuff in the crease. holds a lighter under it. A zippo. then smokes it. Well smokes the smoke. It's like kissing god or the…

A portrait of my sweetheart drawn while she is asleep: a passed-out angel illuminated by the light of dawn coming in from the bathroom window, one of her shoes missing.

She lay there, skin and bones, unable to speak. Little did we know those were our last moments togethter. How cruel for her, to want to share a lifetime of thoughts and feelings in those waning moments only to be robbed of the chance. My brother and I…

I wrinkled my face up in the glare and warmth of the sun. I baked easy in the hovering heat and my spot-speckled skin ate up the rays and swallowed deeply.

black hair/ (damp) around her ears Keys on the table Drinking coffee from a glass

I coughed a little. Some bloody fluid sloshed in the rubber tube coming from my chest. Outside my door some doctor was ranting. He was looking for the patient in the room across from mine. “She's in X-ray,” the nurse told him. “It's Friday,” he…

You are in a car speeding through Dublin towards the West year after year the journey uncoils past the same landmarks Kilmainham Jail strapped to a chair bullet to the brain on by the Rowntree Mackintosh factory where the black and yellow and orange and r

He hung up and I sang some whiney lyric about wanting him back. You know the songs that say the same shit: I’m an idiot. Love me anyway. I’m Velcro with nothing to stick to and you’re a nappy surface that gives me a reason to exist.