Monday, August 5, 2019

c l o s e d



little by little those tiny drops of the late evening rainfall are all over my black t-shirt. it makes sense that an ocean is assembled of water drops. my clothes are soaked, so have the fingers on your feet when you dragged and dropped them on the monsoon flood, as soon as the traffic signalled to stop. I  hit your shoulders gently as you apply the brakes and your smell finds its way to my senses. 

Sunday, April 21, 2019

when summer's gone


I feel like I have stopped creating.

my summer's long gone, making me only sense the wrap of harsh winter.
it's no longer bright outside no matter how far the clouds travel to reveal the sun.

Saturday, February 9, 2019

h o n e y


honey, 
one day,
you'll come to my room 

where I'm creating chaos
out of my hands by blending colours 
that remind me of you

Sunday, January 6, 2019

remains.




it's probably what I feel builds me 
after I'm broken, the remains come together again
one by one to form a new me,
like ashes of a phoenix coming back together.