I think writing about yourself, is a pretty pompous thing to do. Lets just say Im not much of a people person. Period.


Amir
Ayuni
Bren
Carmen
Cheri
Joe Win
Jue
Leen
Lee en
Marina
Shamini
Shaowen
Sherri

Eulogy for an Angel.

With Leen and Cheri in down under, leaving two pill-popping-pessimist/realist-mood-swingers-emo-fucks together (Bren/Jihan) is never a good idea.

Babe, you know Im never good at playing the other role. The one who consoles, and tell you there's hope. Cause frankly, I dont believe in sugar coated shit.

But here's something, because beautiful words can elude us and let us drown in them. Even if it only provides temporary bliss.

I know the bottom, she says.
I know it with my great tap root;
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.

Is it the sea you hear in me,
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?

Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it.
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.

All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,
Echoing, echoing.

Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
This is rain now, the big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires

Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radience scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.

I let her go.
I let her go Diminished and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out,
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?

I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches?--

Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will.
These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.

-Sylvia Plath- Elm.

'Never is a promise.' Because we aren't superficial.




*Emo-less moments.


*The two emo fucks.

If Love is a drug, I guess we're all sober.
If Hope is a song, then I guess its all over.

layout: detonatedlove♥