Mandarin oranges
                             White light
I peel my mind out in the dawn,
And let it dry.

Lilacs are bound to be ruptured,
Shape as sharp as the livid side of the planet.
(the visions of childhood are blurring at the back of your eyes)

in a diaphanous dawn I tried to grab your fatal wound and hide it behind my teeth
(A vivisection/sacrament?)
My Adam's apple, I want to do to you something parishioners did to God.

Soren,
Sharp teeth, bloodshot eyes,merciless hisses and punches at those who annoys you and those who doesn't. I wonder what made you into this callous, mutilated goliath . I wonder who broke you. I can sense a hint of tenderness between your teeth when you think of something. Tell me. Let me shape you into something more you.

Chaya,
I heart your cream-like smile but I know you're screaming inside. It's not your obligation to be nice and fluid all the time, here, step across the line.

Juno,
Monday mornings, whatever mornings, you're always collapsing in the streets, neon lights RINGING and WHEEZING behind your eyes. I know you dream of death, dream of halcyon days. But it's time to quit hard candies and soft acid, it's time to quit the things that could poison you. You're supposed to be Lily, not Lilith.

My eyes, my hands, almost cold.
The vision of you, haunts. Tremble.
I heard past time blues screaming in distance,
And you was the worst summer.
Like some sort of FALLEN GOD or ILLUSION you came out of nowhere ( yes you've been there, existed all along, but your presence wasn't mine to bother) and boom!

"Cha, you'll never know until it HITS YOU UNTIL IT ******* HITS YOU."

Oh, it does hurts, both physically and mentally, a sudden sink of teeth and claws in the softest parts,
now I'm bleeding from all the lacerations I pretend not to notice.

However, let's go back to the story: you appeared, and the trilogy of navre begun.

"I love you as much as a broken heart can hold, but I don't want you to take it, you don't ....."

Ah, that's my voice, not his.

"Deserve!", he shouted out in laughter.

Yes, this is how my God looks like, he's made of sweetness and acid, brightest voids and softest claws.

"Every tiger, kills,"

I.
Stretched days are too long,
like some sort of ****** dub step playing on repeat at the back of your head. Soapy touch of bluish air (or kitchen light, I suppose), and soft cracking sound of ice in glasses, the scent of rose water and virtual vision of your skin against my skin/
                          your hands on my hands. (And we might be humming some out tuned songs  in languor, sloppy voices).

II.
Too long,
             I think of old weekends.
Where me and my cousins used to meet up at some fancy cafes/ random bookshops/ or maybe just my house or their house. And we'll talk a lot or nothing at all. Sometimes, me and N, my closest cousin---childhood playmate to be precise, would just sit beside the floor windows and sink our bodies in the blurry, grained afternoon sunlight. I'd sit with my legs crossed, dry hands holding some novels (which I pretend I'm reading) and N would put a pillow on my thighs and sleep on it. We both felt secure and very, very exhausted, as if we've travelled back to our child days, then to the present time again. Strange enough that we're both people who have cold hearts but still share a bond with each other.

III.
I keen-eyed, knuckles-snapped
staring into the.......long tunnels.
Look how quick the shapes can shift in the dark, but can you get away with it? Can you get away from all the morphing and deformation before it turns into some kind of tragedy? Some kind of blood wash?
You think you're fast enough
    but there'll always be something quicker, something that'll wait for you one step ahead.  
Throw your hair behind, feel the speed, and jump on it, if possible.
(Ps I  wonder who am I when no one's looking. )