People ask me to believe but
Never why I don't.
Everywhere you look
In Singapore there's a different book,
Different building,
Different sacrificial killing
To worship; consider
Us spoilt for choice
In the orchard of apples
People don't see are rotten.
Perhaps that's too strong a word.
Consider us spoilt for
Choice of deities
Waiting to strike us down
As they laugh from their
Hammocks, clouds in the sky.
No. Second time,
Still too strong a word
For these beautiful stories
Told and heard
By generation after generation.
Axe to the head of your son.
Snake telling you to eat the one
Singular apple on the tree.
Birthing a baby
After dreaming of an elephant.
Literature of the gods
Written by nodding
Humans in a circle. "How
Profound," they must've thought.
But now
Perhaps we're forgotten
That the world was built by
Our own kind. Heil.
Atomic bombs. Famished lands.
I wonder who came up
With this plan.

I'd only cut my nails if someone were
To hold my hand. Nails. Claws.
I have no fur
But what I do have is the hands
Of an animal. Surely you understand
The need to pick at them? Where
Else would the energy go— skin, hair,
Knife? No matter the length
It takes the same amount of strength
To keep myself from tearing
Them apart, preparing
To get scolded later. Sharp.
Jagged. My LA
Blood is providing me no words today.
I hit the enter key
And watch as gradually
More paint comes off
But it'll never stop.
They might already
Be short but when there's a will,
There's a way;
There's no point in say
ing I'll stop because
There's no one to stop for.
No one uses the
Nail cutter anymore.

I bring the tablecloth
Across the marble
And marvel
As the ants make no
Effort to go
Ahead and scurry away.
Watermelon juice
From earlier in the day
Acting more like glue—
Syrup. Drowned in molasses.
My mother'd take passes
On killing the ants, giving
Them another chance at living.
I am not as nice.
I wipe once, twice
To make sure it doesn't stain.
If you listen closely,
Perhaps you'll hear
The ants crying in pain.

Is there a name for that ache in
My bones, the demon clawing at my skin?
The books always told me
That knowing the name of that entity
You'd just accidentally
Summoned into your room from Hell
Would make you its master;
But let it know yours
And you'd be gone for
Good. It eats at me
Like moths at silk but surely
That can't be
The cause of the dizzy
Spells, those that feel as though
For a second your mind is no
More, incomplete.
Holes in my memory; what was
I about to say? Oh right, please,
A name for the pain;
Unquantifiable;
Undescribable;
Ungodly.
(Rescue me.)
I would text to tell you that I'm fine
But I fear the devil
Already knows mine.

Their eyes are everywhere; they
Analyse everything I do, I say,
I make;
They take
Me apart piece by
Piece; they feed on my
Soul. Their eyes, more
Like mouths, devouring me before
I even more; lashes more
Like teeth, claw
ing at my skin.
Their eyes that know
They'll always win;
Their eyes that glow
Red in the dark (surely
They aren't human?) staring me
Down at every corner. Their
Eyes on my every hair,
Cell, atom. My mother says
There's no way
I'm not exaggerating but then again,
My family's eyes are
Those never too far
From my back. Always.
Always watching. Day
After day I pass
The eyes as I walk to/from class,
To/from home, on the way
To/from the MRT.
I see
Them watching me,
Watching everyone else, eyes
Slowly being pried
From screen to person, then onto
The next. Me. Them. You.
I watch as silently,
They tear me
Apart, then move onto the next.
I pretend
To look down, text a friend,
But my eyes are always open.
Their shift's done for the day.
Time to find our new prey.

Because I might die if I stay
Another day
In this body; where do
You think the mirror monsters came from?
The voice in my head holds strong;
Every time I
Look at myself my
Eyes are drawn towards every
Direction but straight to see
Their own reflection. Disgusting.
There isn't a single
Comfortable
Place to rest them on.
And so upon
Having to go out, I spent an eternity
Trying to see
If there's any way to make my
Waist smaller,
Trying to figure out if I'd get by
With saying I'm an inch taller
Than I actually am. The while
More I'll
Have promised turns into all
Of time, but still I fall
Apart every time I see
What's supposed to be me.
It can't be, really,
I know,
So
I'll close my eyes and pray
That this was just a dream all along
But I open them to stare
At that image, bright as day;
Every skin cell, every hair
Just seared into my mind
Where you won't be
Able to find
A shred of what they call
Positivity.