He who has been stabbed
leaves the gap open for necrosis.
A pair of diving eyes minds it
as they dance behind the yellow line.
What irony, for the victim to play
his own murderer.

The train of thoughts leaves the station.

“I tried to keep the knife away,”
you still say; your hands
grasp the handle.

Filed under: Original, Poetry

by

A member of Singapore-based writing collective /stop@BadEndRhymes ("/s@ber"), Valen dwells in the swamp of poetry. He has been published in various publications, including Anxious Poets Society, Eunoia Review and Quarterly Literary Review Singapore. He has performed his work at the Arts House, the Singapore Art Museum, and in various dingy bars.

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