singpowrimo
-
I sit and patiently receive your curveballs with my ungloved hand. It hurts me as much as herpes. Yes, I let you smother me with this sad wetness. Yet the first drop is never the same as the last drip. Like how one stranger is the same as another yet not the same. How a
-
i. Those fearful,distant words, these hollow,centered wishes; surely in twenty years they’d have expired. But they haven’t. Fossilized, they stay forever: pointed, sharp, piercing, true. These are facts that we cannot change. Bridges we cannot rebuild. Tell me darling how do I tie this rope’s frayed ends into one again? How do I forget the taste
-
Last night, I dreamt of an old friend picking up smoking, cigarettes with the look of pencils (because she wanted to be a teacher, you see). I dreamt of people I did not know. Last night, I dreamt, aside from her smoking lead, of a table mired in the middle of nowhere, all of us seated:
-
Observe. Spit in his face, and he turns the other cheek. This man who is not even a doormat. A doormat is welcoming, even when stepped on. He is but the puddle you step over: shallow, dirty, unwanted, cold. Once, a part of something greater.
-
End of the queue and start of the process. Threading eye of needle, delicate contortion of self, steel embraces shoulder. Forced myself through it: square block into circle; all to find a home and throw myself into it. The wave breaks the shore, the man emulates the wave. Wave breaks shore into grain; man breaks
-
Forced myself through it, the square into the circle. Is that all that it takes? To sculpt myself into you? I feel it: needle subverts the skin. Dreaded word latches to eardrum, underside of tongue. Inertia unbirths itself.
-
FRUITLESS Every evening, the pushing of the hour, and the staying of the day, you listened. Every time we touch, I count. But all I learnt in this exile was that every muscle in my hand ached for yours. Yes. We are not alright. This isn’t love, but a close second. Careless creator, why do
-
death: it looms, above our car i can hear her, knocking on the sunroof a cloud, she; our car nothing but a coffin when the two of you fight over us i am reminded that i, too, am but dirt i suppose that’s all we were. when the car stops at a red light when
-
Q. How did you know you loved? (5m) When we had ran all the streets to the end, learnt these veins weren’t enough to contain young blood. We could have traced these roads to each other’s heart by heart. When every flat was a hill and every sunrise we saw was first and the last,
ugly stage 