Photo by Sarah Arista on Unsplash

Come walk with me on this side of the street.
The other side is full of riff-raff who want.
The crossing itself is a tribulation, one most
are not equipped to do. The traffic’s too fast,
and we’re all heading in the same direction,
aren’t we? I wouldn’t know. There’s a bend
up ahead, and from there our paths diverge,
but somehow everyone must feel that all roads
lead to home. On this side of the road there
are bars which open 24/7, their glasses full
of the clink of yesterday’s hope for us to
have a better world, one in which time drips
from the tap of kegs and barrels as though
the finest whisky being poured onto the ground.
We had time to waste like that, once. When
I was with you I felt as though everything
else was forfeit. Moot. Conceded to the
pixies who come to claim their angel’s share
of the potstill. In a way, love is like that, isn’t it,
this triple filtration of desire, lust, and mercy,
the foundations upon which all relationships are built.
I imagine myself an engineer, a captain, aiming
for a home run with the hull of a cruise ship,
in my hands a bottle of unspecified make, but
somehow we all think it’s fine wine, and you
can be so many things here; you can be the ship,
you can be the sea. You can be me. You can be
you, but that’s more up to you. I’m just here to
try and guide you but I know the blind leading
the blind will only lead further into darkness.
On the other side of the road, neon signs light
the way into hell. Who’s to say that hell is not
a home? I don’t know anything. Yet, constantly
I feel like my desires are mistaken. That all of us
need to live alone, take our own paths down the
mother-cracked alleyways into an unknown
building. All homes are unknown to me. All homes
without you feel unknown to me, but I know them
well. They are every home. You are every home.
There are so many things you can be
except with me. Or so I think. Or so it is.

Freewriting Explanation: Every day, Valen shall use 5 minutes to write completely unprompted and uninterrupted, letting the words lead the way. There is no end purpose to each piece, but rather, the pieces are allowed to develop naturally in their own way. The pieces are then uploaded without edits.

Filed under: Freewriting, Poetry


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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