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My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.
A life stuck at 7PM
The clock on the wall never moves
And the second hand never shifts –
Nothing to win, nothing to lose.

See the sky slowly growing dark.
The in-between time, before sleep,
Nothing is right or even wrong –
A place where I don’t want to be.

Perfect dusk with reluctant clouds;
The sun has gone to bed alone
While my head is clouded with doubts
I lie there – silent – on my own.

Waiting is the hardest part tonight:
In between breaths I wait for sleep,
Dreaming of all the things undone –
Losing pieces while losing me.

Silent rain creeps down my window
To whisper: “I will find you soon”
I turn, not wanting to feel,
Look away to implore the moon.

I search for answers in the dark,
But all I find is silence.
Seconds stretch to days behind me;
All that mattered was in past tense...

They press harder against my ears:
Screaming, screaming, screaming loud
They compete – all my secret fears
If I can’t breathe, I’ll surely drown.

There is no peace for me because
They refuse to keep their silence –
Whispers morph into demons, and
Demons are replaced with giants.

I surrender, the same refrain,
A question, always tireless:
Tell me what tomorrow will bring;
For mine endless night is timeless.
written around the time of high school graduation
I have music in my head
A beat of a particular sound
Is it my blood rushing through my veins
Strumming my chords or have I found
some other percussion in me instead.
Whether I trail downstream to the pool
or to the purple prickly moors
My music goes with me
Beside me and behind closed doors.
It sings to me heart, a rhythm downloading
my thoughts to the breeze.  Wafting to the wind
blasting in the lanes as I go off roading
in my little jeep with rickety floors.
Bumping and grinding it does
behind closed doors.
 Jul 2015 Bethany Huang
the story started with hairline cracks.
cracks that were so fine, thin and insignificant.
let us not sidetrack,
and go straight to how it all happened.

somehow the pressure got to us all
widening the tiny fissures in the wall
slowly the walls started crumbling
and the decorations started tumbling.

the pieces of the walls started to fall off
and each piece that almost hits me
i dodge, dust myself off and cough
it never did hit me that this really could be.

eventually i became enlightened
and my perspective was brightened
suddenly the rug fell through the floor
and i am out the door

plunged into darkness, i ask
since when had the fault lines widened to swallow me up?
into an endless abyss of darkness
unlike that of dusk
under the frigid sky i
slow& wonder; somehow
gather hope. pass under
bridges. feel the same, et
cetera- the same, always.(
sometimes, there's no storm.
or, at least, as far as an eye can see.
)sometimes, we get hollow. if i
am, i am
happy& hollow, with you,
                   know this, always.

green and gold were the days i
spent learning the architecture
of your smile. the hues still colour
these afternoons in abstract: small
patterns in the woodwork. an
accumulated sunbeam, late

continue, sing songs. breathe
most of the time.
someone once
               "life is but a joke if
you make it through laughing"
little sigh
She had that sleepy dreamy-eyed glow to her
And I fell as Icarus
She was my Daedalus
My parachute catalyst
As I fell from the light of sun
With my melted wax wings
I fell and and I fell deep
In to her quiet seas
The sense of a sneeze or incoming flash back brought you to your knees
Murky deeps in which I found myself so enthralled with you
That I saw our story as a definite artifact
More precious than the pearls at the bottom of your seas
I found comfort in between your smile lipped teeth
( as I made a nest in between the nook of your face and neck)

— The End —