Young Writers Society

15.4.15

Write when the world is quiet, and the silence embraces you like a long-lost friend.

Write when you feel alcohol thrumming through your veins, singing unfamiliar tunes.

Write when your head feels leaden with the weight of your body and the elephants are dancing ...

16.4.15

knowing you is
like reaching towards the galaxy
but instead of the billion brilliant connections
i end up crashing into asteroids on a cold, flat ground

well, i never cared much for fairytales anyway.

17.4.15

It's so cold out there,
my fingers turn to wood beneath the kiss of frost
but you're never satisfied
until you watch them freeze and break

18.4.15

you bought me chocolate again for my birthday
you remembered I liked the dark almond one
but you failed to remember
that I've told you 365 times minus 2

that the store I like them from are always close on Valentines.

19.4.15

Why do you never keep your promises,
they don't grow on cranberry trees, despite how many red strikes I make
against your name and seal it with wax melted with
the heat of my tears

I admit I should have known better that no boxes or pretty words could make you stay
when the bird has already flown

20.4.15


I won't apologize for the way my hair falls across my shoulders
sunlight across late autumn leaves
nor the way my heels click against the dusty bitumen
raindrops manifested in the form of beats

I thought it too, the day when you tore through my forest
broken twigs, dripping branches with shrapnel bark
ashen leaves and ashen droplets
staining the forest floor a stagnant patch

you could take away my leaves and branch
but the sun will always shine, despite your futile attempts to
drown it out

21.4.15

I see bottles swinging from the ceiling, inside nestles
the invisible walls to our future
the maybes
the ifs
the will bes

23.4.15 and 22.4.15

the sky vomited out its innards on me that evening
lying in a pool of green mess and yellow sheets
I tried to identify your shadow amidst the muddled voices
but oblivion swallows all

-

circle in seas

lace drowned in wine

the slow and languid dance of liquid fire that was your eyes

24.4.15

I hope you took care of the bones inside our closet
You know how my mother hates the bleached white wood against the brown
Especially when the sun casts a deep russet shadow into our room
cleaned out the marrow, especially the marrow
strings upon strings of spitted days and half-lived nights
it weights down the bones, and they've always made such a beautiful sight when we toss them into the lake

and watched, a whole city burn.

25.4.15 & 26.4.15

I loose count of days

I loose count of days, when I ground the pieces of glass beneath my new boot
countless pigments of dried red ink staining the beige carpet, remains of last night's scene painted on the table edges
now blunt and marred with the sides of rubber sole
glass don't have memories, they shatter, loosen into sand and morph into wind
picking in dust around the room leaving human-shape spots on the clean white walls
(I was never happy with your colour choices)
we should've went with the wallpaper, at least it had a bird on it.



una coda

the small insteps and dimples of your spine, reminds me the way you used to trail our hands down the piano keys

white-black-black-white-black-white-balck-

soft, melodic taps in time with the beating of your lips against my ear, una coda

resonance

the keys are now rimmed with yellow, but they're like an old friend.

Waiting to be played again, when the time is right.

27.4.15

there is no lost and found
with stolen hearts, lost in canals murky with
muted starlight that leaked from our corneas
from 5:15am and bitter-cold ceylon tea
bloated with the acerbic tang of what we call
regret
I tried the lost property sign buried beneath
this house, inked our marrows into the wood
loosened floorboards, nails rusted with memories
and found tabula rosa sprayed in white

I should have found a better locksmith

28.4.15

75%

it's what I always tell you to do things at

or else, you will loose the momentum at 15%

and fall, dark to a place where

'resilience'

has long lost its echo.

29.4.15



i saw our future
in the macabre of ink
that said 'marriage'

30.4.15



I saw you in the twilight shadows coming home, dusky with fatigue and the promise of sleep
rings etched in the puffy folds of your mascara
you said, 'it went well'
I saw the peek of a purple five dollar note in the breast pocket of your half-buttoned shirt
goosebumps like craters against the milky white of your skin
your fingers pinched a small foil pocket, shining innocuously in our dimmed lampshade
won't you like a gram or two?

but again in the morning, you would push them away.
sealed them into boxes of twigs for posterity
in the future, in the twilight shadows coming home, dusky with fatigue and the promise of sleep
we'll open them again, one by one
but know this, my love.

these memoirs aren't for you

I can't believe that it has come to an end. D: I loved each and everyone of it. <3

Especially 20.4.15 & 21.4.15

Much love. <3