Search
  • Neuro Logical

Those tiles will stay with me forever - Saoirshe O'Neill

Something in me grew black over time,

darkened my insides.

It plagued my mind

and scourged my eyes

Until the lids closed over in the hope

of an endless night.

Hiding in the background of every laugh,

every cry, every thought that went awry

like ink spreading over white paper

until the darkness covers all its edges

and the paper, loose now

in its wetness, begins to

wear away.

I remember the tiles from the hospital

as my dad brought me in.

He had cried on the drive

and I could see in his eyes

his heartbreak.

My strength had dwindled

and I couldn’t stay awake.

My head bobbed as I lost consciousness.

There were tiles on the floor and ceiling

they were white in the sense that they had once been white

and time had taken over from there.

I was given a gown.

it was short sleeved so the doctor would see

All the cigarette burns on my arm.

She came in to hook me to the IV

and turned away,

Like you would if someone had just told you

of a tragedy.

I spent hours vomiting up the pills

forty half-digested pellets

foaming and fizzing in the toilet bowl.

My dad held my head back from falling

in between intervals

of putting his fingers down my throat.

I fell asleep to the sound of him crying.


Bio:

aóirshe O’Neill is a 19-year-old aspiring poet hailing from Co Mayo, Ireland. She is currently in her second year of her BA in Creative Writing at the National University of Ireland, Galway. Saoirshe writes poetry and fiction, often focusing on themes of existentialism, death, and depression. She has previously been published in the Vox Galvia section of the Galway Advertiser. You can read her writing online on her blog: www.anemicacademic.com.

28 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Mr Peach Believes - Mike Hickman

Mr Peach believes that we will remember him, he tells us as such, one lesson, when handing out the sheets. He tells us he gets stopped on the street by former pupils, keen to resume the acquaintance,

Pottery - Diarmuid ó Maolalaí

the dingle peninsula. a potters workshop. some elderly poet, retired from writing to pots. his new work, apparently, gets displayed sometimes in art galleries and various craft exhibitions. a sign say

Babes in Arms - Gary Beck

The avenues of our cities teem with enraged children protesting gun violence violating our schools, nurturing grounds for the future. The righteous cries fill the air demanding safety measures to prot

©2020 by Neuro Logical. Proudly created with Wix.com