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5.1k · Feb 2010
Paper boat
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Life moving fast
Like storm cell rain
Washing, running
Torrent and quickly
Through the drains.
Some daze,
In this cold and constant place
I wish I were a folded paper boat
Tipping, curving crests, afloat
And chasing the stream
Away and washing clean
A waxed vessel
Pouring through
Concrete flooring.
I would steer for the sea
On waves awash with
Urban weeds
Detritus sweeping across
The deck
Of my paper boat built
For one.
I would run
With the water
A creased and soggy me
All folded and falling apart
At the seams.
4.9k · May 2010
Snake eyes
Jacqe Booth May 2010
No more
In love
No more fallen
Rather falling
We are brushed finger tips
Waving goodbye
Air stuck
Tight lipped
I feel sick
And tired
Raw flesh
And cut deep
Straight through
To already
Brittle and broken
And tripping
Over the
Falling sky.
Red eyes
Roll the dice
Snake eyes
And the next roll
Is in your hands.
3.2k · Feb 2010
cold hands warm heart
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Where to begin
I think to myself as I submerge
my thoughts
In you and what it is that
Gives the tick to your tock.
I think of your eyes
And the depth
That lies
Folded within
Green and brown
And smiling.
Lost glasses
And lager
That comes in pints
Accompanied by
Action and statement
Your energy blasts
Fast and furious
I sense more to you
Than what meets my eye.
And in that thought
I lie
Here now
Creased brow
In anticipation of knowing you more.
I think of your nails
And the way they touch
Me deeper than
The welts
That are kissed
Crimson stain
Onto my skin.
Your essence
Seeps inside
And bleeds out of my body
Through my lips
As I savour
The flavour
That makes
You taste
So simply
You have this way
Of ceasing time
And pausing
The beat of my heart.
Just a smile
Is all it takes
And your laugh,
The way your eyes
Drop low,
The dip of your neck and
The way you glance up
And out from
Under your
You unhinge
The door
That stands
Shut and heavy
My eyes
Wide open
As you storm
Into my soul
And take whole
My delight
And spin its
Into gold.
I am sold
On you
And your cold hands
Warm heart.
1.8k · Feb 2010
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
You said to me
Stand strong and firm
And by mast you would
Set sail.
Stay and sate
Our love would prevail
The rampant hunger
That swells
The tide
and draws
The moon
Baited and starved
Into the night

Yet here I am
Alone at sea
With only the breeze
For company.
A seagulls song
And the sound of calamity
Lapping and slapping
At my ego.

Like bounty
Lost And found
In darkness and depth
And heaving chests
With rusty locks
And ghosts
Stirred and stricken

I cry silent and taken by the deep
I am green with envy that you might want me.

I am left to the birds
Stark at my post
And sailing single
In this boat built for two
I need you
To want me
Navigate and steer
And plot the course
Of my flesh
Saline sweat and brackish

I am not a ****
Cast upon shore
A ***** to the
No more.

I am ballast
And tempest

I wait for your
The descent
Of your body in mine.

I have time
And rhyme
And sailors song
To while the time
In which I long
And sailing alone
You will find me
Your boy lost at sea
1.8k · Feb 2010
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
No feelings
No depth
No core to strike the iron hot
I regret to inform you Sir
That I have lost the capacity
To care,
That I have dropped the
Ephemeral Ball of belief
And have become tangled
A shallow
Broken and busted
Shapely shell
That contains only dust,
Particles of Mistrust

I am bumpy rolling stone
No moss collected
Just cleft reflected
On a surface
Not shy or unscarred of pain.

This is today
This empty decay
This is now, this dust cloud
Caught trapped aloof and uncaring.
1.6k · Feb 2010
Die trying.
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Sitting here, thinking about death, about which death to choose, about which passing of time to write about. I am sweating, like, hold your breath or die sweat. It is hot here, but it isn't the temperature that is making my glands leak, it is the memories, it is the death grip that takes my heart when i remember, when i write about life leaving, silence stealing from the night.

Heroine. She's a tuff-tender ***** with soft sleepy skin, the daughter of Morpheus, who takes your breath and holds it inside you. Somniferous, She likes to sit alongside you while you die, she holds your hand and whispers in your ear, allaying fear and slowly she wraps her fingers around your lungs. So tired, of this world, of this life; you think, i'll just close my eyes, nothing new about being on the nod, nothing strange about this tiredness that follows a quick projectile puke in the gutter.
Let sleeping dogs lie.

Writing about Overdosing. It is a strange thing, a quick story, one minute your blinking, nodding, often murmuring, then asleep.

Lucky the dog who runs in a pack.
Lucky the man who walks with strangers by his side.
I don't remember much of what happened before i closed my eyes.

A shot, pin ***** relief, then, quickly/slowly/gone. It is night out, with a dark and steady sky, I am watching the stars through slitted eyes and loving my life, loving my wife; ******, how she makes my heart sing. I am glad to be far from withdrawing, i am happy to be in sin with my lovers, stainless steel turemo picks.
It is my first blast for the night and apparently my last.
There is no warning, no red flag that appears in my minds eye. Just silence and a world fading away. A heartbeat disappearing. Short shallow breath and a small niggling concern that soon will come the time when i am not high then...

I am going. I am gone. I have died.

The strangest thing about dying is not dying. The hardest thing about it all is waking up and realising you were finally gone, you were finally done with the rigmorale, the procedure, of living, of life. You had reached the ultimate goodbye. And now you are back. Still high but not high enough to be faced with the living. Narcan gives your lungs back, it breathes back into you what She stole away. Wanting more then ever to ***** but not wanting to puke on the paramedics lap. Fear of police and reprisal, anxiety soars high on the agenda of the recently revived. A trip the hospital, a free ride, then signing out early, i have shots to blast, a past to wipe out, a life to live or die trying.
1.6k · Feb 2010
cage fights
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
I am cage fights with boys and girls alike
I am splintered hardwood floors
kneeling/crawling/hard working
I am balled fists
Open palms
I am Chains and
a footstool timbered from my back.
A rent boy with vices
I am violence/dicord/visceral
Bloodied and mean.
A machine built of sinew
made for binding/unbinding
lashing and flogging
I am a service receptacle
a boy built of honour
of instinctual intellect
of bruises and bandages
i am cut and torn
roped and worn.
Jacqe Booth Nov 2010
Sitting, restless

In this changeling


Of freshness and renewal.


Rat on a wheel.

Each passing day

A different way

Of feeling,

An altered state of mind.


To find

A man within the boy.

Hoping to see

The real me.

Alive and kicking.

Hot flushed, this post determined puberty

And the desperate need to feel.

An urgent angst to Be.

Short fuse and temper flare.

I’m not really there

Yet still somehow

Everywhere and


Else breathing.

Dysmorphic chest



In this


Soul puncture,

And bloodied bandaids

Cast off

My heart

Once worn on my sleeve.

I am finger skin,

Flesh and nail


And jagged edges


Perplexity kneeling,

I am deeply lost inside of me.

Begging to be found.

Compund; unbound.

They say that beggars can’t be choosers

Only losers left to dreaming.

They also say

That I may be a dreamer

But I’m not the only one.

I will come undone in this undoing.


A life lived unalive.

Slow unravel

To once again


To belong in this


Stitched bleeding riches

To my bare and brittle bone  

He is not alone

I feel him



Sating disquietude

With an attitude


He is not running

Rather feet flying

A rat inside

A wheel.
1.6k · Feb 2010
Little kitten
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Little kitten
i would have your
and bristle fur
inside of you
i'd be lion
And you could scratch
and cut
and use me as your
And i would drink you
up up
my tongue my throat
vestibule in time
catching and licking and suckin
and taking you in
All fluid and raw flesh and blood
My hunger for you is feline *** canine
Bloodthirst, this urge
this roar
inside of me
for you.
Animal intent
I am your awakening,
the ache to your throb
you pulse through my veins
and i want to be taken
in your claws.

You are not submissive
and i am not Domme
but you'd melt in my paws.
Up high
Against a wall
i would carry you on my shoulders
your back against the wall
and drink and breathe and become your flesh
from within you i'd break and re-mould
and detail the design of your love
for me.

I would be your strength
a boy of flesh
of depth
of passion
of friendship
fashioned intrinsically
with love and

I can only be the only one.
1.5k · Feb 2010
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010

Small boy sitting and thinking
crouched in the shower
(for now)
Deep in thought
shallow in action.
Little boy crying and
screaming inside.
As the water
relieves each sin and
conscience settles in.
Feeble boy drained and
soaked as the worries
of the day wash away.

This is no life for a soldier
a survivor of wars.
So young for an old soul
So old for a young boy.
Quiet boy who cannot help but to
hear the roar of discontent
raging from within.
Little boy scared of the familiarity
of a life lost to sorrow.
A sobbing boy drowning in sadness
wishing only to smile but alas,
alone in the shower, crouched down low
there is no show of solidarity,
only solitude.
1.2k · Feb 2010
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Of songs
Of sounds
That roll
Quietly full
From his lips
In short shallow whispers to himself
He sings
He breathes
Passion, love, belief
From grief
Then right on through to gladness
He climbs mountains
With slippery letters for feet
And sails the seventh sea
Pieces of flotsam forming tidings
Of vision, rock pools of  indecision
A collision of the imagination and tangibility
Penning of peril and threat
Breaking cold sweat
Cigarettes and coffee stains
Window sill
And rattling chains
He shakes cobwebs down
With etched verbose
For a broom
In his clandestine room
That serves as a scribers sanctuary.
Sewing, threading
Silk worm stitching
He is itching
To fill
To spill
To take the thrill from his heart
Straight onto the page.
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
I’m sitting here
And its cold
I desperately
Need to ***.

But my ****
Is stuck to the
Leather seat
Of my chair
Not a care for my bladder
See, apathy matters.

You said not to burden myself?
Say what
Speak up
I cant hear you?
Yours is mine and mine
Is yours
And baggage is still heavy
With someone else’s
Name tag on it.

I cant just hear you
And try not to listen
What kind of friend would I be
Cold apathy
And dystrophy
Of the heart.

When lovers
And defeat
The unknown chill
Of strangeness,
Together they take on
And become
Like moss to the sea
And fossil set in

We are portraits
In our twisted
But together we are
Painted tint
and obscurity.

The burden is only the beginning.
1.1k · Feb 2010
chronic chromatic
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Green pastures.
Verdant, like peas and pine.
This timid display of jealousy
of me, myself and mine.

Then crimson red
shades of fury
too wild like tulip kisses
too fluent to bury.

And blue songs
lyrical sadness
waxing my tongue
with thier tepid tune.

These colours before time
rolled into rhyme
representing each crime
committed, eyes closed.

Tonight you're black and white.
1.1k · Feb 2010
we ate eggs and fucked
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
We ate eggs
And layed in bed
And ******
Whilst looking
At the view
Nothing to do
Other than stare
And care
And fulfilled
Within each others eyes.
And bomb-diving
And Scissor for hands
Without any sound.

Kodak moments
And dressups
Like cowboy
Dapper dan’s
And pomenade.

Coffee and Belgium beer bars
And pirates with patches for eyes.

Silver trayed room service
And a mat for our feet at the side
Of our bed.
And daddy’s boy
With a cammo ****
A Cheshire grin

And for five
Short hours
We walked
And talked
And were kept
By the allure
Of retail

We accessorised
As if fashion
Were to cease tomorrow
Silver and tins
And etchings in time.
Then tie pins and scarves
And hats with wide brims.

We were lost
In a city of
Bright lights
And street art
And didgeredo’s
And bag ladies with more
Than Sydney international terminal.

Bell boys
And valet
And privacy lights
Respite and
2 nights
of enjoying each day
from the
25th floor
Jacqe Booth Aug 2010
Tiny little parcel
All wrapped up and waiting to be
Sitting quietly
Under the shade of
Cautious scarred and wry
See me sitting calmly
All parceled up and wanting
To be unpicked

Hand stitched
Calling softly (upon deaf ears)
To be untied
To see what lies
Beneath each fettered
Role player
This small and softly spoken
Of being
Seeing nothing
Feeling everything
With wary
Soulful eyes.
Dreaming of being
I am token
a pile of sticks
Paused upon the ground
Aspiring to to be burned
In order to
This collated stack
Of feelings lost to the numb of
Being wrapped up and tied to the self.

A book full of stories
Pages upon pages
Loose words
Piled and falling
Upon a dusty
Neglected shelf
Too much of the self
Not enough of the other.

Worn out
Dog eared
Belayed by fear.

to be undone.
To be unknotted
Vast volume
Unspoken betray.

Hold fast
This minute
Lying restless
At your feet.
991 · Dec 2010
this is not the first time.
Jacqe Booth Dec 2010
Unrest sits inside of me. Scratch that. Unrest riots inside of me.
Tonight I knelt face down in a shower hotter than a Sydney inner city summer day. My skin burned. I hate water. I hate heat. In as much I particularly hate hot water. It intimidates me and steals my breath from fear and a terrifying blaze in my lungs. I often dream nightmarish of drowning in an ocean deep with blood red boiling water.

Still. I figured I could burn away this cold feeling that freezes me from my heart to my skin. If this were frostbite I would be a darker pitch of black. Head to toe. Inside out. Charred flesh and bone, sewn over a fevered mind.

I knelt on the pads of my shins, feet flat out behind me, knees scratching the tub, chest heaving with my hands clasped desperately behind my head pushing down. **** up, face down, no grace in this morbid search for self comfort. Trying so hard to become undone. My forehead rested in searing water raining down; that puddled hot and ***** beneath at my mouth. I prayed for tears. I ached to open up. One bleeding stitch at a time. To bleed tears of salt water amongst the fresh. Just to myself. For me if not for anybody else. Alone. Uninhibited. A quiet fury unleashed.

I searched for my voice and willed it to cry out. Urged it to break open and spill, a mess of confusion could at least be cleaned up. Without that mess I was still just a disaster waiting to happen.

I answered myself with silence. The only noise I could make was a low, guttural, throaty whine. The sound murmured in the water, muffled. Wasted. Washed away. Just air and water. Leaving. Draining. Just. Gone.
Salt burnt in my throat. More heat. Tears stung at the back off my eyes so I opened them and let the water in so as to coax the water out.
Nothing. Nothing but heat and emptiness.

Scratch that. This is not emptiness. I know emptiness well. I remember the echo of nothing. I remember non existence and its dumb witted mercy. I recall the dull anesthetised blanket of apathy.

This. Is. Feeling. This is being full and riotous. This is toxic and seething.
Appendicitis yet burst.

Even a toxic spill can be cleared, a burnt forest regrown. Degenerative. I feel like I am both sinking and replete at once. Both burning and washed out. Scarlet bright and discoloured. Alive and exhausted.
I am a vacuum through which no sound can travel. Waves of compression travelling through matter. From particle to particle I travel silenced, with no substance through which to reach a listener.

I am not listening.
I am unsound.
Unrest and riotous.

Even as I write this
My face burns.
My body aches and quivers and my stomach turns over and over and over until I stand and reach for my tobacco and roll to smoke to abate this ache that is eating me.


I am a thousand words unsaid.
Five thousand tears yet spilled.
Words fall from my fingertips
But not from my lips.

I am the quiet in the storm.
Stilled, Stalled, Appalled by what can only come next.

This skin. Of mine. Is prickly and If I could just step out of it, for the sake of feeling settled, I would. I would stretch and unwind my mind then slowly furl back into myself, ironed out and calmed. Fresh stitches, less itches and the sense of having been free. From me.

Funnily enough, although I’m not really laughing, when the tears do come, when they bite at the corners of my eyes until I feel like my face is about to tear apart, a mess of salt and flesh, The darkness reaches out a cold and unforgiving hand and pushes down. Until the brackish brine reaches back into my throat, slides into my stomach, dragging with it that fleeting chance of reprieve. Then comes the sick. Then comes the smoke. Then comes the still and ever threatening silence.

I am a stranger to myself.
And this is not the first time.
985 · Feb 2010
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Who is I?
In the Now. I am of true boi essence.
A writer, a recluse, abandoned only of fate: Destiny ever alluring in the palm of my hand.
Limited only by my own inabilty to be present in only one consciousness.
I am split between reality strings.
A permeant spectre, caught betwixt parallel dimensions.
At times incoherrant, lost in esoteric translation.
I am physic(al) - I of breath + flesh, perception being my holster, corruption my armoury.
Intuitively, i am harmonious, sanctonious, welcoming of illuminations and the darker side of each unfettered moon.
Awareness sleeps by my side. Each waking minute guarded. of commonality.
I am enlightened.
I am bouyant.
mobile, fluid-like in kinesis.
Conventional existense being the foundation over which i fly.
Arms outstretched, willing risk to be my pull.
Enticing Love to be my drag.
balance, mediums, equilibrium.
Lifted high amidst winds roaring with possibility.
I am stark in naked complication, although often prone to cover up in cynical, self critical analysis.
I am given of self; being the taker a refreshing discourse to which i stray accordingly.

Of culture i am a liar.
By nature i tend towards honesty only straying when survivalistic path need tread.
I am of blood,
private yet optimistically open to scarring.
By custom i am trained, civil, content.
Of instinct; native raw tongue, i am rampant, rapid in force, compelled to grow then emerge.
To submerge
is to take full scope.
i am telescopic
in view of A/all else to which i drown my vision.
I am unsure if i am young,
Although certain that my passage is still being lit by the glow of its entrance, dark passageways luring with their shadows and cavernous corners.
I am liberal, random in speculatory silence. I am idle, often motivated by industrial desire.
Mechanical in process, structured of cerebreal architecture, yet somewhat discombobulated in particularity.
Sporadic be my strain, its think tank choking always on the weeds of sorrow.
Essentially i am nothing: yet overwhelmingly everything.
I was
I am
I will
therefore i
to i as
A/all and nothing.
As yesterday is to tommorrow, and visa versa, i am a window, a door, a channel:
as closed as i am open.
Dependant only on my own deliverence of influence and potential.
Driven by the promise of future and the demands of my past.
I am a vehicle in time, my presence, my motion, my journey
is I.
948 · Feb 2010
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Funny place
That one by the beach
Where the water is pink
And every evening,
The sun kisses at
Of summit surf.

Waves that have
Tasted blood spilt
For fun and patriotic pain.
White face
And sand
And green and gold
And blue, red, and white
Bruised fight
Each dollar spent,
Sins repent
We were born here
******* y’all
And don’t come back now
Ya ****** queer.
No one welcome
Eyes avert
And woman
And seagulls
Picking and screaming
At the debris
Of society.
You’re free
To ******* now
944 · Feb 2010
fake it till you make it
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Fake it till you make it

comic sigh

I'm laughing
so that each
forced smile
doesnt echo alone,
thunderous, beguiled,
each smile
a testament to
fake it till i make it.

I can lose you in this laughter.
856 · May 2010
Salted pearls upon my lip
Jacqe Booth May 2010
So i drew a pile of words onto the page
and in a rage i covered them in black lines and criss crosses until a
small sad scribbly sailing ship appeared upon my page;
mooring, sinking, drinking in the brine
and choking on weeds that drift
aimlessly atop a deep engulfing sea.
Dying boat submerging to be free
Lonesome boat singing a fading melody,
Water cleans.
Moonlight streams.
Seafolk dream
and the ocean breathes in a calm that swells
into a seething, heaving storm within a sea of scribbled words
lines blurred
bone dry
sun starched
my mouth is parched
and words form salted pearls upon my lip.
852 · Mar 2011
Jacqe Booth Mar 2011
The brink of madness
Follows at my feet
Like a shadow taunting
Like a whisper haunting.
A slip of darkness nipping
At my heel.
Urging me to feel
Too much.
Pressing me
Too touch
The beyond
Face first
Cross eyed
One eye on the future
One eye in the past.
Fall in
Fall out
To jump
Blind luck
Into an empty view
In lieu of you

You are me
But you cant see
For the madness
Barking mad
At your heel.
847 · Feb 2010
Sit, stay, fetch, heel.
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Sit, stay, fetch, heel.

So good i have become
at controlling the rage
that I'm bound and cant feel
the truth

So quiet and caged
(with the key in my hand)

Despondent and broken
with only myself as my
Well heeled, like a dog.
On a chain.
(down boi down)

I wouldn't know freedom
if it slapped me in the face.
(those gloves, those hands, are mine)

I am my keeper
and for that
i despise
my charge.
834 · Feb 2010
push push slide
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
It's not working,
all this grinding of the
literical wheel.
Push push slide.
Trying to find
a part of me
from the deep;
Something pulled out and
penned, something to like,
to love, to call my own and wear
with pride.
It's not working tonight.

All that's left is the taste of
too much tobacco
high and dry in my palate.
All thats left is an empty milk bottle
and not enough black coffee in the world
to wire open my eyes.

These pages are lies
the minute they leave my fingertips.
The words are fleeting
These feelings brief

There is only grief
for the loss of my tongue
when i need it the most.
When i need it to speak
from my heart
despite not hearing
it beat.

Doubtless wasting
my time.
824 · Feb 2010
sick of your words
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
sick of your...

Every time you spit in my mouth
with your visceral vehemenence
i wonder to my wits end
Did you kiss your other lovers
with that poluted ***** mouth?
Does it make you feel bigger?
or more in control?
Does it tickle your fancy
to be taking your toll
On me and us and what could be ours.

Im sick of your words.

Your attitude
slung low on your hips
loose from your tongue.
Tonight im not crying
just tired and perturbed
you're a tyrant to my self,
an echo disturbed.

I want to hate you for this
While i love you for the other,
but who am i to blend the boundaries of
love and hate?

and your love is the balm
you say?
that eases the pain,
keeps the demons
at bay.

I disbelieve you now
amidst this tendered rhyme,
spoiled stitch in time,
that is binding your lexis
to my tongue.

You're in my head.

and i dont like to savour
the rotted flavour
that is your shadow of doubt,
seeded so deeply in the terrain
of your self triggered drought.

Im sick of your words.
815 · Aug 2010
brushed finger tips
Jacqe Booth Aug 2010
No more
In love
No more fallen
Rather falling
We are brushed finger tips
Waving goodbye
Air stuck
Tight lipped
I feel sick
And tired
Raw flesh
And cut deep
Straight through
To already
Brittle and broken
And tripping
Over the
Falling sky.
Red eyes
Roll the dice
Snake eyes
And the next roll
Is in your hands.
792 · Feb 2010
Milk spilled
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Talking just the 3 of us
Me, Myself, and I
found a cafe in my mind,
sippin lattes
killin time.

Found a common topic,
the presence of my mind.
Thought we'd try and analyse,
but thought not to waste the time.

Shootin the breeze
with all three different
Life is like a latte'
time killed,
milk spilled
and a napkin to soak up
the tears.
792 · Feb 2010
ribs and pointy sticks
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
and pointy sticks
and scarlet ribboned
sanguine teeth
all down my side
they slide
from chest
to rib
they bite
from skin
to smile.
I itch and scratch
and nick and pick
and all the while
a supple
at my lip.

Pretty as a picture
Gilled and arced
small crescents
and the presence
of an ornate touch.
So much
{silence} unsaid,
{sweat} unspent,
{sense} unfelt,

Choked and bound
skin ground
and breathing
beneath the blade.


Etched seamless

then comes the
792 · Feb 2010
Always a stayer
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
survival is cheap

This is how i feel
this onion peel
shell of wasted empathy//
this is how i taste
this furry filthy *****
flavours savoured.
This is how it feels
to die
then lie
in hope of faith

while it rains
my thoughts.
The seasons storm
while thiniking//pausing//stroking
i climb back into the safety
of my mind.
it is mine.
To hibernate
a pleasure
brief but
still so much
grief to grieve.
A cliche,
this damp patch
of regrown
This testament to
perhaps not the fittest,
but always
a stayer.
787 · Feb 2010
sad sailor song
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Sad Sailor songs
and a roll my own
staining brown carcinoma
spit and strand
upon my lip.

Close my eyes
and hear bells,
i can feel them
pealing through
the quiet slippery air.

I can sense
without feeling
An urge without
{ripples in the breeze}
whispering trees,
this disease
(a spreading sadness)
a badness
sliding, slinking
ink and blight
into the bidding

A smear upon each
shining (dying) star.

Smoke curl, unfurl
and waiting, watching
for another
starry tear to
slide off
the burnt out
face of
the sky.
782 · Feb 2010
comfortably numb
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Comfotably numb-without the Floyd

Comfortably numb
not dumb:

Just mute.

Riding silence
instead of life.

A presence atrophied.
An altered mind.

The kind
that drops you low.
The kind of stale
that leaves you pale

And weak at the knees

Id cry,
only tears take time
and the
will change
without waiting
my voice
to saturate
my face.

liquid nuggets.
as they slide
off the record
and onto my plate.

I'd offer you a bite
we all know
what happened to the hand that
the hunger.

You look at me
as if
i were a ghost,
a spectre:
The nightmare
that anticipates your every

Look in the mirror
an emulation
of the degenerate
that is,
has become,


Comfortably numb.
in this
This miriad of  mechanical madness.
774 · Feb 2010
peace out bitch
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Door slam..
Take your tude'
i ****** your mother.
761 · Jul 2011
cross eyed
Jacqe Booth Jul 2011
The brink of madness
Follows at my feet
Like a shadow taunting
Like a whisper haunting.
A slip of darkness nipping
At my heel.
Urging me to feel
Too much.
Pressing me
Too touch
The beyond
Face first
Cross eyed
One eye on the future
One eye in the past.
Fall in
Fall out
To jump
Blind luck
Into an empty view
In lieu of you

You are me
But you cant see
For the madness
Barking mad
At your heel.
753 · Sep 2010
Dirty clean
Jacqe Booth Sep 2010
***** clean
Those pieces unseen
Pretty head
On a misfit body born
Into a (purely)
Miscreant soul
Torn seams
And jagged edges
That spill
Love drunk
All steam
And moist expression
From the lens
Onto slippery
Queerly hetero
All the while
A message sent
Through the eye of a
Ready and wanting beholder
Bent and already
So eagerly
Face painted
A boy with a joker smile
Drawn and smear
Dipped from
Lip to ear
From frown to crown
He has feelings
To feast on
Fit for a king.
Those passions
That sit within
Before them
Inside him
He is wet through and waiting.
Dried out and wanting.
As timid as he is bold
The cold shower
Of expression refrained
Still bidding.

751 · Feb 2010
smiles and kisses
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
And kisses
For stiches
You make my heart
If ever I were
To wish again
I would wish only for the same.
742 · Jul 2011
Sitting knees crossed
Jacqe Booth Jul 2011
I got everything I need
Right here
All around me
Like a shadow
To my body
A paper trail
Free flowing
Behind me
S’all free
And never far.
Sitting on the edge of my tongue
Feel it in my fingertips
Light slips between
The layers of everything
I need
Knees crossed
Beside me.
729 · Feb 2010
a piece among pieces
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
You are a jigsaw boy
A piece amongst pieces
Like chess,
A token on a board
Are you the pawn boy?
Or just the Queen
Dressed up like a King?
Makin’ moves
And grooved
You are worn
By time boy
Manhandled and played
Like a ***
Of monopoly dollars
Dyed parchment
You are spent
You are classic
And everlasting
709 · Feb 2010
and you are knot
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Walk between
The string,
And what is forgotten,
That pieces

I am split
And you are knot.
Jacqe Booth Oct 2010
I am lying on my back
On a quilted sea
Of green and blue.
My eyes are closed
And I can see me
Clearly in my minds eye
A swagger in my step,
A boy, rising,
Full stride.
I am raw hide and
Warm pelt.
My skin is bare and I can feel
The fur of a snail trail
Beneath my clasped hands
Upon my belly.
I can smell musk in the air
A manliness mixed
With the fragrant vulnerability
Of nakedness.
My eyes are closed
And I don’t want to open them.
My heart is burgeoning
My soul is climbing
I am him.
And safely rocking
on this sea of sweat and dreams spilt.
With my eyes closed.

Breathing in,
Slowly, calmly,
For I can feel tears already forming beneath closed lids,
I open my eyes
And cast a shadowed gaze
And along the lines of what I had been watching
Within my minds eye.
I cannot lie,
Here as I type,
I remember that sinking feeling
As if I am sinking again now,
I don’t know how
to describe
That ***** feeling
Of being stuck inside this skin
This skin that lies
This skin that hides
What is buried deep within me.
That which belongs to me,
That which is mine.
That which has always been and always will be
And I cried.
My heart surged,
it plunged into a scared and hurting blackness.
And I felt myself falling
Into misery
I looked down on the body
That was lying
On a quilted blue and black see
And saw me
For what I truly am
In the flesh.
In those moments
I wish I could live my every day
Eyes closed
And breathing in that which I see inside me
I wish I could bury my head inside my heart
And depart from the flesh.
Hide from this shell
This private hell
That wears itself outside of me.

Eyes open I see me for who I am
And I cry
And I want only
For eyes closed.

I am fit with eyes closed
And all I can see
Is the man inside me.
700 · Jun 2010
Have i told you lately?
Jacqe Booth Jun 2010
You’re awesome like
Strawberry chupa chups and
The taste of **** in my mouth.
You’re fully sick like a hot ride
And long nights spent smiling
The fun we have is healing
And makes tomorrow feel like it’s
Miles away.
Have I told you lately that you’re
A *****?
697 · Feb 2010
blooms to dust
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
blooms to dust

Im losing sight of
in this black and white
Gausian blur
of  timeless pain.
Im losing sight of me
in this blighted plane
of quasi symptomatic
Do you hear the words in my head
as the scramble to
the mess
you've left behind?
The pills still thrill
but acid tongue
does wash down
again again again.
Rotary madness:
this rhetorical drift
of  love
save for
Yes, again,
i ask of you only
to bury my heart beside yours
as the blooms turn to dust
the composition of our love decays.
684 · Feb 2010
drank the bullet
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
drank the bullet

I drank the bullet
{mercury silk}
from your mouth
{so dry}
as you came
{then left}
fast and bidding
without moments pause
to reflect on
who was
shooting who?
684 · Aug 2010
More arse than class
Jacqe Booth Aug 2010
To this love that speaks so loudly
I raise my glass
(more **** than class, a heady brew of beer and wine)
And toast to loving freely
Living ideally
And making these rich and teeming
dreams come true.
I say I love you
And know that is the easy part.
I hand you my heart
And breathe in
as invisible tears
Depart my eyes
And my soul tries
So desperately
To be brave
And stave off the fear
Of failure.
683 · Mar 2010
Jacqe Booth Mar 2010
Sitting, scribing
One eye out my window
One eye on the screen
Sounds, unseen
I can hear a quiet world

I hear a murmur
A stream of
Shrieks and whispers

It’s night out there,
False light in here
My open window
A beacon bright
Against the pitch black

The night and I,
We cry and laugh
Away our fears
Like wild wolves
Baying at the
warm heart
of the moon.
677 · Jul 2011
fuck knows why
Jacqe Booth Jul 2011
One foot
In front
Of the other.
Onwards and upwards
Eyes front.

Quiet tears
Pool within
Heels digging in
I will not cry
I cannot cry
I shall not cry
**** knows why

I am swaying on
The fringe
Falling and fallen


Slowly slowly
Duck n weave
Heart on sleeve

Hiding behind corners
Eyes down.
Tight frown
Eyebrow furrow
I am the badger
The ostrich
With his head
In the ground.

I am sound
And sounding
So very hard
To just
Keep on Keeping on.
671 · Jun 2010
You, yes, you.
Jacqe Booth Jun 2010
You… yes you.
(You know who I’m talking about)
I’m looking at you and you’re not even here

(You’re In my head and I don’t plan on letting you out)

{You’re in my heart and settling in}

(warm skin, I’ll keep you warm when all warmth departs)

It’s nice and cosy in here… you may as well take off all your clothes.
I suppose that’s a little bit forward;
Then again
Why would step backward when the future looks so bright?

With that crazy
Sexed up gaze you get in your
Café latte
Chocolate-brown eyes.
I have it locked inside my head
I’m holding it trapped;
A fortuitous hostage,
Within the once cold steel bars of my heart
It’s not so cold in there anymore
With your smile
Warming me from the core.

(I want more and more and more).

Does that make me needy?
A glutton for your lust?
A safe keeper for your trust?

Take my hand and walk a while
We can smile
For every mile
We tread together
Like nautical rope
I will tether you to your happiness.
I will bind you to your joy.

I could write of you until I ran out of keys
Until I ran out of pen and paper
Until the light leaves the sky
I cannot deny
The infatuation
That is stalking my mind.

Your voice
With its rich and sultry depths
Your music
With it’s unkempt passion
Girls like you
With your unquestionably
Infectious desire
Will never go out of fashion.

From now on when I think of awesomeness
I’ll always think of you.
From now on when I think of blood rush
Passion and lust
I will inevitably think of you
With that crazy
**** me baby
Look in your eyes.
670 · Feb 2010
you know
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
You know
I held you
I felt you
I wrapped you up
And unstitched my skin
With invisible scissors
For you to slip into
To imbue
Like glue
I stayed
steadfast and ready
I held on for dear life
Through your restless night
My feet contoured around yours
My arms a blanket in your dreams
Small brown birds
For hands
That fluttered
A delicate mess
Of visions
To loud for your
Your head in my shoulder
Body curled
So small
So big
And me
So wanting
To be there
In truth
Consoling and Chaste.
I breathed you in
And presented my presence
Like never before
I opened a door
That then became dust
A shadowland trust
Forged dark in the dawn
Of y(our) sorrow.
664 · Jul 2011
Falling into
Jacqe Booth Jul 2011
You stir a dormant bed of leaves inside me
And in your youthful breeze
They dance
a lovestruck storm
In my heart.
I skip through
The street
All smiles
And singing.
I'm swinging
On clouds
And falling carefree
Into the warm chasm
Of your soul.
All fear departs
Free falling
I wait for the soft pillowed thud
Of heart on heart.
Dancing through the street
Your voice
The rhythm that moves
My feet
The way you look at me
The melody.
Looking up
And falling down
Be warned I'm falling
Into you
659 · Sep 2010
rouge de sang
Jacqe Booth Sep 2010
Suffocating in this state of mind

Like a grain of soil

On the wall of a

perpetually filling

Bottomless pit.

All stale

and collapsing mud.

I can’t breathe

And it is dark in here

In this silence

In this wet and stifling

***** blanket

Of thin smiles

That veil

filth and dirt.

Gritty, I can taste discontent

( restlessness stirred, agitated, weeping)

Like a thorn in the side

Of this torn and invisibly stitched mouth.

My fingers bleed

And doubt seeds

Vicious weeds inside

An already

sick and nauseated mind.

There is hurt in here

And pain

And the bittersweet unspoken


Of one lost in their

Own directionless


These walls I built, alone.

That stare back careless

And greet me daily with their

Cold embrace.

In this darkness, alone,

I, us, we,


Small children,

Whimpering in this feeling

of self chafed friction.


each whine followed by

Gutteral, viscous, primal mutterings

These madman

Me, myself and i

Locked in a tunnel

Without light

It is cold and we want so badly

To relight the fire


claw at the fortification

I have erected

Around myself

Then bleed some more

Until the walls in front of me turn from

la mort noire to

rouge de sang

Sitting here

In this


Blinded by the inability to see

The incapacity to feel

Anything but the feeling of failure.

This powerlessness to heal,

All sealed up and drowning

in my private pool of mud.

Still it is dark in here,

And wet,

And bloodied

And brooding.

The cold walls are soothing

And the veil still acts

To conceal

The extent of filth

Scourging up the walls

Of this inaudible and bidding cave.
649 · Feb 2010
Some say
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
Some say he is wise
Some say simply hardened
A wizened, numb,
Impermeable ball
Of love mislaid
Trust betrayed.
A web
Of gritty layers
Deceived ,
His heart is
Sewn and patched
Small puncture holes
(gasping, weeping, bleeding)
This heart
Pre-stitched and worn.
He gives tokens
Of self
By the body,
Giving and taking
Loving and hating.

Some say he is hard
Some say **** being easy.
639 · Feb 2010
war ready
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
I feel a familiar wave
Of apathy
Washing, creeping, aching
over me
That self propelled
Ignorant kind of numb admission
That reaches into the bleeding
Of your heart
And wraps black
Stained greyscale
Morbid pale
fingers around the
A defence
Completed time and again
Pre worn
And cut up
And burnt
like a leather
Shield, a muddied bloodied field
War ready

This is a Mexican stand off
Where the pistols
Pull their own pins
This is a temple
Unforgiving of sins.

I can hear a call
For help echoing
Through the death grip
Of regularity
But the voice is familiar
And if I remember correctly
It fades after time.
The voice is mine
one of many
The cry is loud
But habits old are hard to break
And, after all, a rolling stone
Will gather no moss
moss ,enough I have already.
And with the ignorance comes
A steady.
And with the steady
There comes a surface calm.
And with that calm I can sit
At one in a room with myself
And not find cause to cry.
(despite the never ending, it will always be ok)
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