Original
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green is the colour I shall wear today. green is the guise I hide myself with. the sun rises and I stare into your irises. what are you thinking of today? when I think of you, I wonder if anyone still remembers me. once again, the morning intrudes past the boundary of the curtain. it
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at the burial of cliches the storm brewed in a teacup. stirring it you reached for sugar. dressed in black, we’d come early for the opera. sitting in potholes where her voice wouldn’t reach us, the flower on your breast is undressed with mud. a tragedy, a tragedy, O it’s one we could not avoid.
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pretending anger crouched in a corner and watched from shutter-blind teeth the unwilling spreading of a smile control. control sits in the rolling chair writing swear words in cursive. in the same room we both pretend to be uninterested and let the flames lick away at our fists.
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crystalline- which was our bond surely eternity must have been erased when we crossed the line in the wake of our collapse you forcefully shed my skin surprisingly it was all just as expected: my true nature – it remains too beautiful too beautiful for you to behold.
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i. beckoning arrows falling bottom of the calendar ii. cadaver corpses sleeping in mud-clad funeral suits iii. the green, it envelops us, inviting, inviting, back to a caged cage —————- 1. i wrote this last friday because i received the notification indicating that i had just 6 months of national service left 2. disillusioned and
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for fear of fragmentation I decided to tie myself to my roots. instead of wandering alone on ‘deck’ or whatever I find myself spilling shit on myself mocking piety hiding apathy in choa chu kang. . currently a woman with hair styled a horse and a dress wild black returns a book home. Does she
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1. Parallel projection, Horizontal rejection: I lie Sideways on a muddy ridge-line Waiting for time to trip and fall. Come now: come, feed off me. I sit in the shower and wait to slide Down the throat of Time: I wait to be destroyed. 2. He leaves you behind as debris.
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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.
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The daisies, as the days go by, shed their delicate skin: their white satin dresses. Piece by piece, it falls, back to the dirty soil: a burial.
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Put on your second-hand smile and beg for forgiveness. Karma comes, like a knife through water: it seeks you. A confession before a firing squad: inevitability, with your eyes wide open, to take it all, in. Accepting, receiving, you wait: for a punishment you think you deserve, for a crime you think you committed. Where
ugly stage 