Monthly Archives: February 2013

touch. breathe. kiss. touch.

our hands.
his hands.
the foggy scent
of your romantic farewell

our breath.
your breath.
I feel the trace
of goosebumps where you

your words.
my words escaped.
I watch as the dream
faded and fell upon itself;
black hole.

his lips.
the kiss.
gentle, searching, yearning,
and all the right

my eyes.
our eyes.
locked and willing.
terrified and fighting to pull



deciding to be happy.


what’s it like?
where do you find it?
do you have to fight
forever to keep it?

how do you choose it?
what about the rest?
if you choose happiness,
what happens to all the rest?

sometimes I think I see it.
sometimes I think I want it, the simplicity.
slow dance of tranquillity, peace.
healthy, like the ever-elusive 8-hrs of sleep.

what hinders you to feel it?
does it hide?
the endless battle, continuous test;
will you be strong enough?

not to choose it
is to choose the rest.
black soul of comfort, pure lake
rich in the warmth of venomous sinew.

sometimes I think I hide from it.
sometimes? place my hand in the twisted pool
and entwine my ankles in the thick, protected roots,
harsh, jarring dance. tangled.

step up.

need. to. fill.

it’s empty.
let me down. let me drown.
do it quickly.
build. build. build. the pressure.

[there you go]
[it’s all a big show]
[it’s all about you.]
[it’s like i’m the one]

[you love to hate]
[you think you’re special]

[but i know.]
[but i know.]
[but i know.]
[but we know]
[that you’re not.]

a long time.

long time

a long time.

you said to me, “i like me
when i am with you.”

i like you too.
but if you don’t choose me,
choose to be that person
in the alternative.

i told you, “a long time.”
you should know by now,
i’ve learnt never to say something
i don’t mean.

i told you, “a long time.”
i meant it.





squid ink.

I am twisted. A ghost. Sometimes I don’t even bother with the mask.
It is not necessary. When everyone
Sees through my walking death.

You know me as I was.
I am returned; not even half.
The pain tears at me. Relentless, strangled, breathless.

I beg.
I pray.
I loathe her.
If you will not release me, let me feel the high numbness.

This is not living.  This is not a life.
This is terrifying, excruciating, torturous,
Slow death.

Ribbons of silky black liquid envelop me,
Strangle me
While I am encouraged to seek comfort from their warmth.

Heart rate.
I am frozen. Here.

At the end of every school year…

At the end of every school year, I would proclaim
what a pity the beginning of sunshine and free days
seemed to destine all previous learning, discoveries and knowledge
to a dark hole of my mind,
proving so difficult to retrieve, sometimes lost forever.

Older adults thought it a waste;
I marveled at how such thoroughly acquired skills and knowledge
Could so easily be forgotten
And I didn’t have to do a thing but relax and play for two months!
Wondrous memory removal – sometimes I felt I could wipe even more than a year.

At the end of me, I hoped that by hiding in my hole
You would be forgotten. Only it has been more than two months now.
More than a year.
Ironic it would be, if one could attend a course to un-learn
Everything you taught me about life
Every fact you forced into belief.

It hurts.
And it has been more than 2 months.
Why are these lessons continuing to reside at the very front
Of my lobe?
The very moment I wake.  Every second I breathe.
As I run, charm, sleep, dance, try to eat. Try to sleep.

When can I escape?
When can I be wiped?

If I can not be wiped, why must you keep me?
Have pity, have mercy

Remove me.


He poisoned her home.
Before, a place of warmth, love, security.
And now poisoned by the memory of what he did there.

And then he left.
He will return.
And he will torture her.

The scent remains.
I’ve washed the sheets.
I’ve cleaned the floor.
I’ve scrubbed my plates.
I’ve scrubbed my skin.

I force my skin to tolerate the extremes of temperature as I shower.
I force my blood to thin, so when I watch, it flows evenly.
I force my body to endure endless, enduring, excessive exertion.
I am disappointed that my daily purge does not act as an adequate antiseptic.

But, like the army of ants that continues to march on despite maximum casualties,
Like irreversible mould.
Like a stubborn stain.
Like the plague.
He will haunt her.

Food is tasteless.
Hunger is constant but never satiated.
Her bed no longer restful or safe.
Heat from the open fire barely touches her skin.
She is ice.

Through determination and self-sacrifice, successful eradication is imminent.