Committed suicide last night
Cause the welfare department
Demanded too many documents she did not
The utilities were removed.
The landlord proudly gave her eviction
The friendly bodega accused her of trespassing.
Holding on to hope,
the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
The night sky used to bring me happiness and peacefulness, but now it’s just regret thinking how i could have helped you.
We used to lie awake talking about nothing but also everything, but now i lie awake looking across my bed hoping to see you looking back at me.
I used to feel like i had everything that i was complete but you robbed me of myself i don’t even feel like me anymore.
I used to wake up excited with the thought of seeing you, but now thinking of seeing you fills me with dread because all that’s left of you is a pointless stone.
Less time than it takes to say it, less tears than it takes to die; I've taken account of everything,
there you have it. I've made a census of the stones, they are as numerous as my fingers and some
others; I've distributed some pamphlets to the plants, but not all were willing to accept them. I've
kept company with music for a second only and now I no longer know what to think of suicide, for
if I ever want to part from myself, the exit is on this side and, I add mischievously, the entrance, the
re-entrance is on the other. You see what you still have to do. Hours, grief, I don't keep a
reasonable account of them; I'm alone, I look out of the window; there is no passerby, or rather no
one passes (underline passes). You don't know this man? It's Mr. Same. May I introduce Madam
Madam? And their children. Then I turn back on my steps, my steps turn back too, but I don't
know exactly what they turn back on. I consult a schedule; the names of the towns have been
She waits for me every day. Wondering how long I will stay. I hear her calling day in day out. I want to listen when she tells me she can comfort me. When she tells me she can help me. When she tells me everything will be alright if I just step into the darkness with her. I feel her grabbing me on the cold nights, trying to take me with her. She holds my hands while I cry. She tells me I’m never alone. She is always there for me. In dark moments I seek her, knowing I shouldn’t. She can be nice from far away, but the closer she gets, the more dangerous it becomes. If I let her too close I will ruin them. My mother’s screams, my sister’s love, they seem to fade away once she tells me to stay. I grab her hand and let her pull me into the unknown. The unknown I want to learn so desperately about. The unknown that is so scary but yet so familiar. The unknown that’s always on my mind and can’t seem to let me go. The unknown she promised to take me. Her promises give me a way out, but this way out only makes life more impossible. She says she loves me and I believe her. Sometimes she’s the only thing I can think of for several days, and other days I can’t even remember why I was ever attracted to her. But then she’s there with me again, she pulls me into the dark, says she’ll help me escape. I slip into the unknown and she takes over all control I have. She makes me feel again. The numb feeling that’s always on my chest seems to be taken over by her presence. She guides me. She leads me. Her soft touch makes me calm as I follow her footsteps. She opens the gate to let me through and as I try to follow her my breath trembles and my knees feel weak. The unknown I’ve always wanted to see, seems so scary and dark yet to comfortable and silent. I let myself be taken into the dark silence to never come back to that what I once knew.Continue reading
The wind scatters her hair,
The fragile fabric of her shirt clings to her back.
The wind attempts to push her forward,
As her crowded and crammed mind begins to retract.
Trapped in a memory,
Existing in the exhausting grasp of the past,
Her world; wrapped up in a few moments,
A box of trauma and pain that has yet to pass.
‘Higher,’ the swaying beech leaves beckon, whispering drunken enticements into
the humid morning air.
‘Come higher. Come to us!
Leave earth behind,
Your parents will say they love you
No matter what,
Until you’re gay.
Your parents love you
And you are their pride and joy.
They just can’t wait for the day you
And get married and
If memories ever come in a can that has to have a shelf life, I hope it’s 10,000 years.
— He Qiwu, from Chungking Express
you told me it’s a ritual taking friends out on their birthdays, and
i must say, with friends, i expected to be surprised by
two you-know-what words, and yet i was surprised
by two cups of kit-kat mcflurry, soft and crunchy mix
with our salty stories of schoolwork, student societies, et cetera—
you with your parents travelling, and mine back in saigon.
In the dead of the night there is a cry of pain.
One child loses innocence and a soul commits to flames.
No help hears this call and thus none arrives,
They are left to the darkness with tears in their eyes.
Again and again this same scene will replay,
The child holds a secret they will take to the grave.
They gather their heart now shattered in two,
Trying to suppress the memories is the best they can do.
As the years drag slowly by, they lose their grip;
The memories slip back in and they begin to unzip.