A Polished White SinkA Polished White Sink:
If I had to call this world a blessing;
I think I'd say 'I find it damn depressing.'
You might think I'm stupid from how I'm dressing,
But this is just the heart I feel like wearing.
I see street corners and absent youth;
Don't pretend you don't ever see the night.
Cause when it turns dark, the maggots start crawling;
Looks like God decided to shut out the light.
I can warm my hands on fire and watch the people go,
They don't know who I am, I just go with the flow.
I see streets that seem empty, clogged to the brink;
But that's the reality deep beneath the sink.
It looks clean on the outside, polished porcelain white,
But inside of the pipes are what you keep out of sight.
Yet they're already straining and distorted with strain;
Soon the flood water comes flowing, wash away with the rain.
-Unofficial release from Chen Yuan Wen, 8th April 2013
In the interests of transparencyIt's clear to seeIn the interests of transparency1 year ago in Scraps More Like This
that I'm as fragile
as glass -
and every time
that you look through me;
I crack up.
Ink and ToolsIt spreads like wildfire.Ink and Tools2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
The colour fleeing.
You press down harder.
The colour travels.
You wonder why.
There's nothing there.
But the remnants of ink.
On a paper to be filled.
You wonder why.
There's so much more to that one colour.
You test it.
An irreversible space.
An irreversible time.
And a smile graces your lips.
As you gentle your grip.
And the flow slows.
You don't mind really.
There's just so much more to be done.
SolsticeOnce upon a time, when you were still sunlighthouses and shimmering existence wherever you were needed most, you found him. He was November, shaky on his first last legs, and you saw through the mind-twistings he feigned to the mind-twistings that were really there, knotted up in his dreams.Solstice3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
You were still birdsong then, and thunderstorms, and your bodyheat melted the frost claws that held him tight. You held onto him as his November deepened. When he howled, you howled with him, and the wind played with your voices and pressed the softness of your lungs against your cageribsand then against each other's.
November became solstice, and you felt him shiver through that long night and didn't mind the coldbitten nails that grazed your skin. He slept when the moon drowned below the treeline, but the iceflakes began to drift in like small animals seeking the pulsing riverheat of your blood, and chilling you. He lay there, vulnerable as his world turned slowly towards the light, and you
To InfinityTo InfinityTo Infinity2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
Trying to exhale all the hurt. (except it doesn't work.)
Trying to inhale a new beginning. (but that doesn't work either.)