cigarettes, vodka, and axei learned about loneliness last night,More Like This
belatedly, because no one ever bothered
to explain it to me- it was
something best kept for the time it existed in
the blank space where a hand had once been
a soft shaky touch
the sorrow comes in sultry waves
with the indigo tide of me missing your breath
on the hollow in my sleepy neck,
a whisper backandforth inandout and then
a hitch, a twitch and the slow descent
from sea-froth into dreamland
we drifted, content, into the
scared scarlet hills where nightmares roam
where i made my home, knowing that
in sleep your whispers still coated my pillowcase
and i was not alone
we sank, satiated, into
the wasteland in our wasted heads
knowing that despite the terror, we could share your bed
knowing that when i woke, gasped, drenched in sweat
you would brush the hair
from my forehead
i'd remember my respite
and we would settle down once again
and as i lie, disconsolate
my ribcage heaving, desolate, i pull your jacket
to my face, breathe in your
DieDie:More Like This
Such a simple word, spewed without thought.
"I wish you'd die, I wish you'd be killed."
But what if we actually gave meaning to those words?
Can you understand the emotion, the magnitude, the weight,
Of actually seeing the life of an individual depart?
Can you look them in the eyes, as they bleed into your hands;
Observing their final moments, as the light fades from their eyes?
Or are you simply a soft-hearted coward,
Sitting fat behind a computer, wishing death upon others?
To say that one is deserving of death,
Suggests that you are ready to kill.
And if indeed you are ready to kill,
Then you too must be prepared to die.
"Now please, stop those tears my good man, we've only removed three of your toes so far (^_^)"
-Chen Yuan Wen, 9th July 2013
Ten Fifty-EightThe sunshine falls between the cool wind,More Like This
Which makes waves of your thin, pastel dress,
This late morning near the last of spring.
The side of your face rests on the green
Which bends under your soft-sleeping breath
And under the hand I reach to you.
The sunshine condescends the cool wind,
Tapping your sweat-pecked skin,
As we near noon, close to spring's harsh end.
You beg arousal of virile blades
Which content themselves to fold under you,
Like my palm under yours.