The dull public ruckus of the afternoon train filled the gaps between us.
We could have been part of it,
Drowned so deep in a conversation we could gladly call our own.
But our past selves have already taken invisible
B
R
O
K
E
N
Steps away from each other.
And tucked ourselves in the tight pockets of this companionable silence
As dangerous as the trigger handled by my emotions,
A gift for your forehead.
I will shove all my pain into your being
And watch my reflection crumble to her knees with a familiar cry of agony.
Mauled into frayed flesh in a crimson rose bush
That we had woven friendship wraths from.
And yet, my rasp throat still delivered smoothly.
“How are you today?”

Your usually anticipative eyes
Watched the scenery outside,
Disappearing just as fast as it came.
Did you think of the first day of school?
When we first approached with awkward greetings?
And from a wave and a smile
You start to attach them with questions
Questions that you should be asking me now
Things like
“Do you think we will end up in the same sec 3 class?”
“Do you want to go to ORA with me?”
“Can you save your game? We already hardly bond in class.”
“Are you even listening?”
I was.
I answered every last one,
From the beginning when we stepped into homeroom.
Even the ones you’ve never even asked me.
But now that I come running to you with my stained envelope
Are you still there at your seat?
To tell me
“You know what you need? A good cup of frozen yogurt.”


Now every glance that met
Will be snapped apart like a crisp twig.
Every walk down the corridor past each other,
Will be like two freshmen models on their first runway.
Every move, breath, laughter,
I will always be aware.
Perhaps because your voice
Will always make up for your height in the crowd,
Audible from the opposite side of the hall.
And its only until I let the quietness sink in,
When I have decided to treasure listening to the way you delivered my name,
Leaving your loud mouth like some exotic font.
That till today I still cannot decipher.

What was my height in your crowd?
164cm tall with probably less than half an inch, I guess.
You never noticed how my eyes would wander unconsciously.
Just to wonder
If you still remember I existed,
Somewhere in the pages of your scrapbook,
In the crowd,
Still searching, listening attentively.

Do you understand now?
We are standing at the extreme ends of Newton’s pendulum
Spiked from the illness of our broken bonds.
And I would swing an end so hard I would skewer you
And then the pain will come
Flying back
Stabbing me just as gruesomely.
But it’s so much better
Than disobeying the laws of reciprocation.
My friend, its unfair to be the only one.
Why not requite this one heaven of a pain?

People have pet the conflicted pain like dust off me,
And ignore the bruises that I have willingly punched myself upon.
They taught me
That the heart is a 2-room residence.
Happiness
Sadness
And if you are too happy
Don’t celebrate too loudly
Because you’ll wake the neighbor.

But could it really be helped?
This 1-year worth of what you have given me
You have left 2 party animals as clueless tenants.
Did you understand?
The fact that no matter what silly things we’ve done,
You will always be welcomed home.
And we would continue to drink
Till we are tipsy enough
To walk on the edge of the bridge we have built,
And fall into the hungry rivers
Into the places darker than black
Drowning the air out of our lungs.
But what reason should I be scared,
When you have always been the best swimmer I’ve ever known?
Forever a winner to me,
No matter how many competitions you have paddled out of the pool in disappointment.
It has always been you,
Who would slip over a note to my table,
My hair spilling over its surface in defeat.
Telling me that everything’s ok.
It’s you
Who understood that I was more of a listening person.
Your missing piece to fit your outspoken personality.
You,
The one who could even challenge me to a dance-off just to have the loser ask for the ketchup.
You,
Who could go on forever about a guy you obviously like,
But only say you ‘don’t stand a chance’.
I
The diplomatic one who would arrange you,
Like files in an office drawer.
You
The one who tried to hold us together till the end.
I,
Who failed to treasure your efforts, and share this burden.

And now that you’ve turned down the volume,
And walked out of the door without a goodbye
How am I supposed to handle the next morning, when being sober is an absolute nightmare?
Left alone to wonder what I have done
While we’re drunk, carefree and
Crumbling at the seams.

My dearest friend,
Have I ever told you,
How the number 1
Has always been our own funny little number?
Now if you just take ONE step closer…
Yes, I promise this time I’ll keep my earphones away.
I would point at the signboard above the door
And muse over how your stop,
Is ONE stop before mine.
How your birthday,
ONE day after mine.
Yeah… just like how we are ONE world apart in personality.
Isn’t that why we became like this?
SHUT UP I KNOW I’M A TERRIBLE CONVERSATION HOLDER.
I CAN NEVER PUT MY WORDS INTO THE APPROPRIATE CONTEXT.
BUT YOU KNEW THAT.
You knew.
Now go ahead.
Laugh.
Like how you always do, with that wide grin that reflected nothing but forgiveness,
Stripped down to reveal absolutely no grudges.
Because I deserve it, don’t I?
Because it was my fault,
I was the one, who willingly caused this silent war,
Fraying this thread that I mistook for a hiker’s rope.
There can only be ONE survivor in this meaningless game.
Scold me,
Because there was never such a rule.
I have decided who would be standing alone,
Long ago.
The loser,
The flower that will never find its way back from its ashes.
A.
B
R
O
K
E
N.

M
E.


(hi there. Look I tried ;w;)

how could You know
as You are walking down the sidewalk
           around a corner       wherever You want
that the world is not assembling itself
atom by sticky atom
from the blueprints
piled in piles (like so many piles of newspaper)
in (the rooms in) the back rooms of Your mind
particles rushing and streaming, fluttering
together with the ebb of Your consciousness?
-
the World blurs fuzzily into shape
before snapping
(snappily)
into focus

just as You enter the room
blending pixilated reality smoothly
into an orchestrated Existence
-
the next time You      reach
for the doorknob on
the door to
the waiting room
-
give
pause
listen            
carefully
-
can’t You hear the anxious atoms
           scraping
sliding
           shoving past each other?
-
they                jockey
       jumping into
the eye of
       the image of
the woman on
       the screen of
the television in
       the corner of
the ceiling where
       it hangs
-
she wants to know
why we divide
Them              from Us
-
so clearly
so readily
-
she wants to know
why our countries
are bordered
-
by an indifference to equality
by a contempt for disillusionment
-
A dispute broke out between two
atoms on the table this morning;
a tiny china teapot was broken.
-
how would You know?
people are no more
then elaborate pieces of Your own mind
now once You hang up the phone
e v a p o r a t e d  
                        into no more than
                                           an afterthought
                                                    ­     of empty space
                                                           ­         -
                                             the smell of burnt matches
                             -                                      -
                You think that
everything You imagine is beautiful
                    even death
                             -
               but in an ugly way
-                            -
the man on the
                                edge
of the third chair
from the door
has no face
(none of Them do)
all of Them don’t
(have faces)
-
until They speak or You look Them in the eye
-
until They do something       Wrong
which is why They look                  down
when They walk down the sidewalk
-
They are afraid
-
to live
  as a tree
    in the park
-
where a pillar of
angry
           energy
                       falling
failing
           the
                       pessimistic
sky
might strike
Them
(older than You
yet born
just this moment)
making the ground
around
Them steam
with the sweat
of a silent room
waiting
for the
            door to
                        swing open
                                      and tell
                                                   him
                             -               -
                she’s going to be all right
              it was close there for a while
                        but she’s strong
                      she pulled through
                                      -
                              in the end
-                                     -
the pressure
of the years
of the rings
(which promise to
grow tighter
as time leaves us)
is heated
squeezed
left sitting in
flesh
turned to char
ash and smoke gently
cradling a tiny newborn
diamond
-
perfect           (silence)
-
broken
down the middle-
                      aged
                             flawed
-                                -
You should be perfect by now
You should have a face by now
-
speak           look Yourself in the eye
-
see Your own          Face
stop looking                down
when You walk down the sidewalk
-
don’t be afraid
-
to live
  as a tree
    in the park
-          -
They say don’t talk             to strangers
and You’re a strange one            indeed
how can You see the glamour
where Others            cannot
see that laughing quietly to themselves
can (You) set the expressions on their faces
to joy
     to pain
           to fear
                to apathy
                     to peace?
                              -
              yeah, she likes him
                and she likes him
                        to know
               that she likes him
                              -
                      in the end
-                             -
she wants to know
why our countries
are bordered
-
to keep Them      out
and Us       in
-                                   -
           this is Mine                  and that is Yours
-                                   -
You see
what You want to see (without)
-
(knowing what You want)
the sticker
       on the bumper
              of the car
                     rolling past reads:
                           “jesus is coming,
                                  hide the ****”
-                                          -
in its green lettering
and its largely silent voice
-
if You listen             carefully
You can almost hear Them
-                  -
              giggling
                ­   -                       -
              please do not think about green elephants
-                                          -
(a student just snuck in
and sat down as
the professor was writing
on the board)
-                                       -
             please do not feed the green elephants
-                                       -
I
Myself
have a strong suspicion
that Your mind is
as You read this
(hidden in a carefully cupped notebook)
spilling
black ink particles into
existence
on the very next          page
-                              -
             ­       You write that
You imagine everything is beautiful
                    except for death
                                 -
                   it is an ugly thing
                                    -
               yet still the chisel gouges
                  -               -
  “i whistle a catcall
at my blushing bride”
      llac ot eltsihw i”
  “edis ym ot god ym
                  -        -
        through the crumbling protests
         of the reluctant stone
                               -    -
                     ­               each new line
                                    tampers with space
                                    holds suspect time
                                    postpones the end
                                    and evades death
-                                  -
You breathe
               You write
You sing
                You live
                       -
You casually craft causality
         -             -
         yet craft on
         surely You are not yet done
         You may never be
         at this rate but
         but
         STOP
-        -
the World reblurs then blows away
listen closely here I say
all things must come to end one day
-                                       -
You
Yourself

have tasted the                     hunger
                        of Greed
seen the                                 wealth
                       of Hatred
heard the                               stories
          ­             of Genocide
felt the                                    loss
                     ­  of War
and smelled the                    decay
                       of Truth
-                      -
                      this        ­     is Mine
                                 what’s Mine, is Yours...