by CHLOE LIM
I am nothing but a wisp of smoke
that blends with the unending clouds, ashes
scattered and trodden on
at one with the soil. Solitude
creeps like a thread of cotton
in my heart’s gears—like screams,
you try to muffle
but your neighbours can still hear.
The fist of sunset in my pocket is running out,
soon I will have no golden coins
to pay for my blind desires. Staggering
through the fields of lavender and chamomile
I try to grab onto the last strands of autumn
but that too, eventually fade away
till all that’s left is a bouquet of psychotic tundra.
I have the legs of a mermaid
that bleed ethanol laden tears;
verses singing of wave-tortured shores,
chain-bound limbs and wrists
kept intact by multi-coloured candies.
And this is why I stagger on—
I walk on despite all the cracks and fissures,
trying to fill them with my liquor.