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Tag Archives: Valen Lim
The Study of the Wrong Things
I. A fiction of fraud fazes me, washed over me a dry tide. I empty my well and suddenly I learn you are not here. You never were, huh. Even now, when I am flooded in a time of drought. … Continue reading
They Told Me
They told me my name is creative before asking me what’s my real name. I shake my head and tell them – no, this is my name. But they do not believe it. They do not believe in my country. … Continue reading
cuck
because the word is a tragic cuckoo missing both eyes. because they say I’m plating peace as an afterthought, I must have been smacked out of place. so, the soup, primordial, must be kept pure, distil, any single drop of … Continue reading
Lemon
Because desire is the ugliest cassock. Because you learn its taste, not its look, so you learn with your tongue. Because you first learn to kneel in its chapel. As alms, the lemon-rind, the seeds you didn’t plant, sealed in … Continue reading
The Quantum Theory of Letting Go
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 … Continue reading
Regret Is Your Favourite Waltz
delusional writing on an online page stimulates the memory of having done something one’s not. sitting in others’ shoes shows a lack of logic and restraint when it comes to remembering one’s place. do not just dance to forget it … Continue reading
In This Story, You Saying How You Feel “All Right” Is Not A Cause for Concern
In this dream, you shed your skin; from your pockets, spill these things – antiplatelet medicines, Clopidogrel, Aspirin. Unspin this dream of safety pins, wherein the might of ‘might-have-been’ becomes the force that underpins the breath of your life worn … Continue reading
13 Superstitions for a Damsel in Distress
On the backstreet home, watch out for black cats stalking your footsteps. Don’t step in puddles with your high-heeled horseshoes: the clack draws all sorts of bad folk. Knock on wooden doors along the way – let them know you … Continue reading
Brittle Jade
You bottled message parlour woman. You crackled knuckle. You tremulo. I am divining joss in your will. I am folding you into a boat. I am paying Father to take a short trip. To look elsewhere. Oh, you cloud of … Continue reading