25 December, 2011


Going through old diaries is perhaps the next best thing to actually writing in them. Sifting through pages I've spilt onto in the past (an end of year ritual of sorts), I found a little poem, aching to be heard and so naive in its tone. On a second reading, it is a little screechy too : |

Image from Tastes Orangey

Stop hovering around
a sullen thought
the quiver in my anger
the stench in this rot.

Why take on this disguise
of my loneliest need
Hollowing each promise of hope
on your island of greed.

Worn as a coin
of your vain frivolty
don't foolishly entice with
a second helping of novelty.

Whimpering, seething, 
thoughts ricochet around
heartbeats desperately venture
to make a sound. 

1 August, 2009

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