Friday, 16 February 2018

"A Sick Boy's Figment memory"

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© 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- bedtime 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 takes 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 overlooks 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 figments of perplexed reminiscence.

these are my faded floaty fragmented feelings for those fine fascinating fetish fantasies.

Tuesday, 7 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.


Monday, 6 November 2017

Am Fond of Him

learning to control
the fondness for little things that i share
with people, strangers though,
i got no rules, i got no limits.
everything is the same,
i could recognize a pattern,
am on repeat, the same song on the radio,
a million times,
like am addicted to being fond about,
like i make a fool out me,
i try to bring in my territory,
deserted inside four walls, frequent sand storms,
i rot, but my gut let ‘em in,
am flooded, swept away with the ice cold water,
am wet now, wept off half of my face,
i bring it back again,
eerily out of reality, too much spaced-out,
am a fanatic for fondness, the madness,
and all that lavish fucks,

the time 23:23, fuck, it’s late,
late for my hands to please me,
my control is evicted, it’s ruined,
am in a drop, learning to be in my limits,
to bail out of this.. this...


Thursday, 19 January 2017


The year was 1977, when he was born.
Eighteen years, he lived for non.

He stabbed himself to dead, 
on twenty fourth of July, 1995.

Couple of days of sorrow and guilt, 
made him breath again as a human, 
on twenty sixth of July.

Now, Twenty-one longness of his existence,
The century seemed the same as before.

He is still the same as then.
Like if he traveled back and off time.
When will be the next, into the time ahead,
what lies ahead and hereafter, is a chance.

The fullness of time from the era he travelled from, 
widely in a vessel of hope, from time to time and millenniums to come, 
he have never found the perfect aeons to live.

In search, he travels decade to decade.
Of his destiny...


Tuesday, 6 December 2016


Reflection by Gintaras Kasperionis

Probably the sun has hit the horizon,
That sparkling heat and calm whirling wind,
Have so much something hiding in ’em,
That energy, that passion burns my egos,
And wakes in the inner peace,
Am in a perfect sync,
With you,
And I feel tropical…

Saturday, 6 August 2016


Image by Irving Penn

Hello, I said hello.
Through the microphone, i hear a voice resonate back,
A loudness,
A crunch between my toes like the bones of sparrows.
The cold numbness push on slips away as it's inside.
The heresy I believed in never could break down the back talk.
As you came like a piece of brack through, they call me a plague.
Why still it isn't hang up?
She on the other side with shotgun shells in her cheeks interviews my innocents.
i barely could follow the pulse.
the neighbour shouts, except the only abutting once.
the jumbling mess, no more i could stand up with the attitude.
saying goodbye, i disconnected.


i burned the town and the neighbour.
the silence just before i lit them up with gasoline,
was terrifying and fearsome.
and the darkness and the ash flooded sky that came after,
was as peaceful as lying nude on the pristine beaches of Navagio.

i could feel that gush inside me,
free from the strifes and preachy clamourous disturbed people.


hello, once again,
through the microphone, i hear a mushy voice...


Tuesday, 31 May 2016

Things To Keep You Burning

[ Collage by Tyler Spangler ]
Every people i have met have given me something as their part for me. They all shared stories ,memories, happiness, sad and anxious thyself. Friendship is something that takes a moment to become a wild fire with just a single spark to burn up the gasoline in between the two, And they might stay up till you turn into ashes, or some might just need the same moment to extinguish.
They all have been wonderful, wonderful memories. And always did fantasize me.

Saturday, 23 April 2016

Odd of the Wall

Transparent faces by Mojo Wang

High tides, low lights,
Staring at the cage,
That am going to spend rest, the life.
Blue ribbons and gift wrappers,
But nothing’s inside,
Box of empty rotten people.
I tried to live in between them.
All I could do, just pretend am happy.
With fake friendliness, I tried to look pleased.
I tried to look as if flying high.
And someone said “you are odd of the wall”.
I took his name in vain, may be his blood too.
I might have.
Am too expensive as am extravagant you can’t afford me!
I better be, me and my darker self,
Like a shade, an obscurity, a shadow.
Am on drugs, help me.
Like a nightmare they haunt me.
But still I have close my eyes to overcome the fear
In the depth of nights to pretend as if am the sleeping beau.

But whatever am an unpredictable swine.

Tuesday, 12 April 2016

Incomplete and Everything

People & portrait photography by Laura Visigalli

The pages are empty.
The story is incomplete.
I have my own
And yet to be written
I feel nude
And tempted to be with you
Or may be
Am being optimistic
To be able to
Enjoy your beauty
In the most darkest
Sense of fret self.
Am unknown to many
But you know my
Deepest tactions
And so are you... For me.
Everything would be written again
In black and white
Without an empty page.

Sunday, 14 February 2016

And It Ends

[Artwork by Sharon Rusch Shaver- Goodbye]

We have been too close for too long
The only difference between us was the heartbeats.
That led us split in two ways.
 The chemistry which I felt was strong enough.
But then I realized we were in two different journeys in two different directions that were all about end.

Saturday, 30 January 2016

"To Move On"

I better fit with people to whom am something.
Something that has a raw meaning.
It’s difficult to understand people
But once you know them it’s smooth as silk, to live rest with them.
Am affected by vi-virus, that’s stuck in my head.
I can live with it without being overwhelmed.
I make sure every night the door is locked safe and sound,
So that you don’t burst forth in my skull.
You grew all over my body and psyche.
But your roots…
Am going to pull it off naked but it’s questionable.
Or maybe one day and that day is mine.
I see you be impaired and wrecked.
I won’t laugh at you to keep the difference between our souls.
Am erasing my memories, everything that I could remember being with you.
It isn’t a solution or clarification of what I really need.
All I need is that you never understand.

"A Sick Boy's Figment memory"

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