Friday, 16 February 2018

"A Sick Boy's Figment memory"

<a rel="license" href=""><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License</a>.
© 2018 Sreejith Jayachandran

13:12pm January 20th, 2017
these stereotypes, am already sad of my consideration- disqualification- you don't fit into the character- you choose- you want to be,
My starboard side is broken- don't know where am heading- insecure enough to drown myself-
How many like for the next selfie- I call out the differences over the border disputes-
And am on repeat, a single song- and I dance-off to the weird noises-voices, inside my head-
Clap boy to the rhythm- to the self you see in the mirror without a vocal fold to shout- concern- bed time stories that
I have never heard are in my dreams, These are my figments of memories these days,
The unconventional side wakes in me- like a sick boy- stands firm on his libs- open-
Make a call and remain connected- the utter darkness you see, when the windows are open- I can't
Handle your sense of entitlement- I'm spacing out, isolating from my life's worth-
I ask you for admiration- no criticism- pull me up- stop telling me am fine-
Or take it easy-peasy, I ain't no mistake,under these differences -I'm still breathing and prepared with
Strategies under the same roof- narcissism-
A disorder inflated by itself, just mingle with these different dispositions- do you like them-
they are my religion- an epitome of character assassinators- iron fist smashing the walls, headlamps they keep flashing- in a loop, This is not me-
I’m an obsession , don’t pucker your face, continue- kill them all- one after the other- a standing ovation to one who claims to burn my memoir,
All these figments, just break them, and take a pause-
drift- travelling back to my memory archive, quiet room stacked up disks of electromagnetic tapes- fidgeting vigorously in shattered pieces- crushing me to my knees, it ain’t pretty-
I know it ain’t pretty anymore, these days of total blindness, I know I have to take it forward-
Am in love with this cliff side beach and these super dried and cracked-up concrete cells, which over looks the sky and sea over the tree top and I know it’s green and I love the grey in between, the chilling wind and sunny January.
am happy after all these figment of perplexed reminiscence.
these are my faded floaty figmented feelings for those fine fascinating fetish fantasies.

Monday, 6 November 2017

The Line

It is meant to be the way it is to be,
deeper it goes, better
cutting yourself with a butter knife, it hurts more,
I don’t want to breath up those things that i got wrong,
I turned on to the wrong pages,

and am stuck in that page itself looking,
somewhere in between the lines,
or the quotes,
or the verses,
that read, “I deserve not be hurt”.

I walked across those thousand pages,
for that line,
but never was it found in the paragraphs,
that never ended, continued with commas,
now I want to write it myself down, on it,

It is meant to be there.
maybe I’ll burn it, or let it go,
release the sickness, be free,
let it be what it is meant to be,
just let be, ride back home and sleep.


"A Sick Boy's Figment memory"

© 2018 Sreejith Jayachandran 13:12pm January 20th, 2017 these stereotypes, am already sad of my consideration- disqualification- y...