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She says,'goodnight'
but I wait
she might not mean it.
Bit by bit
I realise
that she does.
 May 2014 Jake Walsh
Weariness
Oh Madness is a lonely child,
from whom the many run away,
the odd thing is - when we are wild;
it is the one with whom we play.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.
© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.
Skin flaking away to shreds
Breathing a fresh whiff of mockery your way, my way,
Shrouding their compliments and
My pride that turned stale
As they were uttered.

Alphabets
Lisping out of my mouth
Numbers
Trickling out of my mind
(Not a hospitable host,
This existence of mine, they recount.)
Fears & dreams
Going into comatose.

Clock-hands pointing at me,
At the stroke of wakeful realization
Like arrows, yanking out and
Darting past me, in all directions
On a time-bound mission.

Sounds, gone out of tune inside of me
Screeching out of my ears
Favourite colors, smells, sights
Now driving me nauseous
A choking cough that echoes
(Was it not supposed to stifle it, like in movies?)
Of all of these
Crashing at me,
Trying to weave again
That familiar path on that train
That leads to the crossroads of that maze
Of self- destructiveness
That I seemed destined for,
No matter where I'd exit from.
("The exit is only a dead-end!", a fleeting voice quivers)
As I stagger under weightlessness
While familiarity squints into a blur
and
Alienation burrows a happy home
Mute stares from my end lasting three nanoseconds
Angry for they still don't get it
Thrilled, breathing a sigh of relief.
For I get it, lest I should forget it,
This, where I had arrived.

Or

Was I inhaling stagnant complacency
Slipping into the reprieve of familiarity again,
Of accursed i-dent-ity
Wait. Am I getting familiar with myself?
P.S. Things you held dear
Where are those now?
Were they yours to admire?
Or mine to own?
 May 2014 Jake Walsh
moriarty
Red
 May 2014 Jake Walsh
moriarty
Red
all the red spilled,
like ink,
like paint,
a canvas.

it was thick
and resembled
the loss
the anger
the hate
an endless pain

red was spilled,
it stained fingertips, nails,
it dug out and carved
into porcelain
into steel
its laments and fury

how to protect
from the red
from the spilled
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