I am the king of self-betrayal. Draped on my back, a cape of swords. For years, my body, the jester, danced to soothe my hedgehog heart. It grows used to self-puppeteering. In that court you are falling, backwards through pierced mirrors, mending them back into one piece. There, taxis reverse into superstates and we walk backwards towards each other forever. Let us shift the narrative. Watch, as I clumsily bring in the imagery, denting my crown by accident. Like how you would always and never keep the door shut when you leave. Like how I am marrying you off to a friend but in another universe I know we are still in that taxi riding towards some unknown dimension together. If what you see is what you get, then is everything I’ve missed, lost? On my throne of twine, I wait for some fortunate death, unsprung mousetrap. On my throne, I let it all wash over me, dye me darker than Bao Gong. At least in that court, I could self-prosecute. Ready the blades, superpose the verdicts in advance. Because if violence is never the answer, then let my prayers be violence. Let regret be my sentence. Let my guilt be my crime be my redemption be my guide.
Valen Lim is a member of Singapore-based writing collective /Stop@BadEndRhymes (/S@BER). His poems have been published in various SingPoWriMo anthologies, as well as Quarterly Literary Review Singapore. He can be found online at https://uglystage.com.
Eunoia Review 