poem
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As I write, my heart aches – a pitiful phrase. Unwittingly, I dreamt of African vultures And photographers, hanging from the rafters. You see, the horror is not what’s happening now, But in what occurs thereafter. Within my chest, I still keep a canary For you – and every day, it sings the same, dreadful
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a brain that needs to be scrubbed clean. burdens- they stand, idly, on my shoulders. now we’re all waiting for relief. an ache, 3mm above my heart but nowhere close enough to even matter. something hangs on the tongue. the taste of rust spreads throughout and the air: it is heavy. silence raps my eardrums
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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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IMPOTENT RAGE penetrates impregnable fortresses mind body soul a burning bonfire a desire to destroy inner selves outer beings cease, seethe, see.
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1. Powerless to hurt you, I focus my insignificant, transient wrath onto a brief memory. I can only pray, that God may deliver me from hatred, as only He can. 2. Lying together, the folds of the blanket cover our exposed selves: a ritual; a burial. Even though you are gone, I listen for your
ugly stage 