The Flaky Derelict

Of masks, monsters and demons caged in my head.

Joe, my friend.

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He’s always present,





cold is that fellow,

and characteristically unfriendly,

yet he does not mind my presence

for I’ve noticed his,

unlike most

who take him for granted

and unlike most

I rendered him needed.

Him and I visit

On the cold winter nights,

I lay on my bed

with him looming from above,

and then he signals

and I recite

and I moan

and I lie,

he could always tell when I do,

only then I stop and stare

and ponder the whys, whens and whats

Why is that air of sadness trailing me?

It follows me traveling,

it stalks me still

When can my deeds be undone?

for I am a saint that sinned,

for I am a lecher that preached,

for I’ve loved and loathed myself,

What does it all mean?

Shouted my silence.

Stagnant he becomes,

rivaling the stillness

of my posture,

he does not answer,

he does not react,

he waits

and he stares at me,

for he knows I know the answers

to every question asked.

I stare back at him

and then,

only then,

in the darkness he smirks

for less than a second,

less than a moment in time,

he sees me,

and I am his open book,

He knows

and only he knows

I will remain silent

for the rest of the night.

Let the record show,


Joe is my ceiling

and I am

His human.

Yours tediously,



 Camille Rose Garcia- Subterranean Orphans


Author: Zeus

I am the grey area, everything by choice and nothingness by choice, wherein everything is possible as it is improbable.

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