I replay
the uproarious sound of your kidneys
at 4 AM; you tucked in a comfortable quilted bed,
and the curve of your glistening elbow
resembling the crescent moon
that my eyes averted from
because they fixated on you
instead.

"My children were mascaraed with blood spurting in a disarray,
a nightmare flashing freshly with every passing night,
and the man's blazing eyes ignited with inevitable
pure evil --if there exists such a thing,
and my faith in humanity subsides,
my heart snatched out of my aching body,
for I am an unsuspecting, wounded mother."

But involuntarily,
for a fraction of a second,
her lips quiver in glee.

"It was beautiful;
their screams of agony,
my control over their lives,
and sweet fear
reflected in their eyes--
my eyes."

Listening to a song you heard a million times before,
in a past not distant from your present,
but finding a spiritual connection with the lyrics,
the instruments, the singer's voice--
you find newfound meaning.

Then you realise, it is not the song,
which has changed,
but you.

Count the seconds until my screams
drown the hysterical slashes
at the padlocked door;
until my ringing mind
confronts the blackened fear
hovering above my head.

A pair of eyes
piece my neck.
Yours.

Nobody is going to save me.

Abundant galaxies,
in a world of close proximity;
remember our eyes,
shining brighter
than the stars above.

*how rare
and beautiful
it truly is
that we exist

over,
over, and over,
over, over, over
again

I find my
heart broken
over again.

Paint the night sky with twinkling stars, distant from one another but collectively emitting a spectacular glow;
Paint the spun ivory clouds across the interminable blue, watching the softness suffocate sunlight streaming below;
Paint your frayed chocolate braids beside curved, smiling full lips in the middle of a vivid, adorned cottage;
Paint the passionate red of blood that stains our hands as they clasp together like imperfect puzzle pieces, and the jagged breathing that fogs the dusk;
Paint yourself where you are loved--
Paint yourself with me.

It's a ripple effect
as a pebble leaps
into quivers of navy;
submerge into the
ethereal unknowns--
an void,
but not empty,
as it sinks.

"But why ask questions
without definite answers?"

Philosophy is a vortex of the unknown;
of confusion that hazes every screen
as the night returns to dawn
--only there is no clear transition
and the night becomes the morn.

But
it changes every decision;
your perception of life through those
tinted, often cracked sunglasses
and pastes a smile on your face;

This is power
of the unknown.

white fluff
but crunchy
plain taste that
is somehow
fulfilling

they roll off my tongue--
delirium, phantom, epigrams--
a complex combination of letters
with aesthetic effect to complete
the wondrous effect.

but in the end
**** everything
a foreign word
to my sensitive fingers
and ajar mouth

because while I've engrossed myself
in literary beauty, tracing the structure of words
I completely forgot the true purpose:
to convey meaning,
to explore expression,
to change.

So ****
**** everything
let that profanity
sit on my fingertips;
a commonplace weapon
against the word
dealing me a cruel hand.

How I dream for your fingers, long like violin strings, to curl around mine. Lead me away from my nightmare. My mind is an incessant nest of wasps and you are my pesticide.
But somewhere in our blissful silence, you will realise I never surrender fully. And you should know this about me; you cannot completely save me from myself. So leave that saviour complex at the door, because I am born to break.
-
Because I hold onto the fear of abandonment like that second bottle of liquor, when first hasn't numbed the layer of failure clinging to my skin. The same way my weeping mother clutched onto my father's midnight silhouette for the final time, before he tore into the starlit street. And the full moon illuminated the entire sky, because 'the world hasn't stopped rotating--
I drew my curtains, built my walls, and locked my doors.
Mine had.
-
Just in case your fingers never reach for mine, and I am left behind with a collapsing mind--
I do not let myself hope.
You remind me I'm too old to dream, and never too young to disappoint. I have fallen so many times, but I measure every centimeter, and you are a snowy mountain, higher than any I've seen, that is on the verge of crumbling--
-
Prove me wrong.

Let me tell you about public buses
with their rolling wheels and upright seats
where the driver entraps in his own world
and as the passengers, we in ours;

but there's a strange occurrence
when strangers share the same seat--
suddenly, we are sensitive
to their slightest movement
the deepness of their breath
our legs touching slightly, sometimes
ramming together throughout
this epic journey.

then, it's our stop;
we are at the window seat, our eyes darting
outwards, with a speeded heart,
our eyes focus on our
impending bus stop.

but before our words form
the sounds, articulate the words,
this stranger has already shifted
with a smile.

"Thank you," you say, stunned,
wondering how they knew
your feelings.

together we stroll
misty foothpaths reflecting
our empty, sad smiles

Resilience is
easy smiles and
listening with your heart
to the concern of others

while you feel
the rupture of pain
pollute your veins.

Because you know
that all sadness will
end in ease

So you place trust
in something greater
than yourself

Competing,
sabotaging, manipulating,
controlling, demeaning, angering,
underestimating, avenging,
hurting
stops when you
learn to respect
that person.

Apparently,
my eyes blaze
with intensity,
emotions, and feelings
I can never suppress;

a labyrinthine
of your deepest emotions
intertwined in a single spark
reflected in my eye

A fatal flaw
of selflessness
that is humbling
on paper
but self-destructive.

Maybe it's time
to realise that
I do not have
to search for love
elsewhere;
not when it's etched
into my being--
my identity.

Maybe it's time
to not salvage
that love for anyone,
but embracing it
for me.

i dream peacefully tonight
with you on my mind
s
    l
      o
         w
             l
                y
singing me to sleep
with words transferred
through a toneless electronic soul
i  cherish them
reread them
s
l
o
w
l
y

with every joke and letter
inking into my mind
recur, recur
'til I am no longer sane.

dream alone
dream vast
dream slow

because i'll remember you,
in the depths of my dreams

slowly
but permanently
you become
a part of me.

in between laughter,
easy smiles and pokes,
I found myself losing--
my mind, my heart,
and
something that was
never mine.

Do you watch the night skies
your mouth agape in awe
watching light sparkle; radiate?
remember:
the stars gaze
at your warm heart
self-assured posture
intelligent eyes
and wise soul
with ceaseless fascination.

warm, sweet,
and comforting
flows through red lips
and rosy cheeks
and a mind shining
like the first rays of dawn.

When somebody watches television
the blur of noises, visuals and sounds flashing
through their mind and eyes,
my heart breaks.

It's an oddity
but people watching television
reminds me of words--
loneliness, monotonous, numb--
trapped in a bubble of emptiness,
feeding off external non-human interaction
to somehow stop the pain.

Twirling on moonlit streets
where their shadows entwine
simple as falling water,
in a world without time.

The scent of lilacs arise
a true epitome of spring left
on their fragile fingertips.

i. no absolute rest
"yes, time
never did stop
for anyone."

but I add...

ii. no absolute motion*
"even time itself
is an
illusion."

because
yours and mine
...dissent.

iii. backwards
maybe yesterday,
we could still
work things out.

--softer,
than lightly (3.0 x 10^8 m/s)

iv. implausibility
our foreheads wear
the cracks of our heart.

you lost your zeal,
I lost my saviour,
we lost each other,

but left
with osmium-clad
backpacks,
and collapsed
patellas.

E = mc^2.

v. our end

fact:
tomorrow
is inevitable.

fact:
screeching alarms
and lopsided bed-hair,
and chugging caramel lattes,
with precisely two tablespoons
of raw sugar--

fact:
forget among the clamour,
the shadow of your figure--

fact:*
you are an
unearthed blackhole,
under the facade
of a supernova.

(your mass = 2.5(+) x greater than the sun)

On a comfortable breezy evening,
my mum converses with her sister via Skype
exchanging quirky tales

They broach the subject of her lemon tree.

"It's the most peculiar case;
it was growing so divinely
until, suddenly, it stopped."

Silence. Then the punchline:

"Reminded me of your daughter."

They exchange hoots of laughter
Meanwhile, I sit in the corner
arms folded, eyebrows knitted
unamused

Love
Warm and secure
Is the way you listen,
With an encouraging smile,
As I tell a tale
With glittering eyes;
Hand lightly resting on yours
Fingertips brushing
Along the rim of warm tea,
With buckets of rain
Cascading in the grey mist
In the outside

I have my father's mind:
logical, quick-witted, carefree,
always searching for sublime meaning
in words and people
over a third cup of tea.

and my mother's heart;
soft, selfless to a fault, empathetic
searching for ways to attain happiness
for everyone but themselves;
ultimately alone.

Within me,
*they are still together.

Vulnerability is trust
Trust is vulnerability
Carefully tread these dark waters;
do not lose yourself.

Sometimes the truth
is like holding
a smoldering flame
in your cupped hands

where if you do not
throw the flame
then it will burn
you alive.

today, I begin--
writing poems
not for you
but for me.

For us to understand humans, we must first detach ourselves.

They think it's beautiful
that I'm broken--
the words beginning from
from my frail heart
articulate in prose;
words laced in pain,
resonating in warm whispers
to sooth other damaged hearts.

I don't think
they understand

as i rushed to build a new community of my own, filled with sticks, stones and my own bones, i forgot to mourn what i had left behind. you tell me nothing lasts forever; yet, i will find a way to salvage what i had poured my heart and soul into building, because i refuse to --i cannot-- believe that it is over, that i am no longer a community but my own person, that i am now inherently and deeply alone.

i couldn't wait for my community to fall apart, so i could rebuild a new one. i convinced myself there were too many cracks in the foundation, that it was imperfect, that i truly didn't belong... but love is love, and even black sheep like me can find it in the oddest places. People are not jigsaw puzzles, i realise now, and neither is love; we never fit, there are always roughed edges, sawdust-- We manage to love anyway.

I tried to shield
my heart
to keep it whole

but all it did
was turn to stone.

I learned
that our heart breaking
in half
is not the worst
thing that can happen

What is loneliness, I wonder
Is it feeling like you are trapped in an impenetrable bubble
surrounded by the people you love the most
Is it a constant disconnection, frustration, incoherency from yourself, from the centre of your spirit to the tip of your nose
Oh tell me, tell me, tell me
how I can shed it like pieces of dead skin

Interesting,
how I can only
bleed on typewriters
when my heart
has ripped into shreds,
as if pieces of tissue
are spurting into
strings of nonsensical,
literary madness.