The Selfish Writer

She woke up in the middle of the night, he was smoking weed, tripping and reading a book.

We need to break up, she said, I am breaking up with you; What? Why? What’s going on babe?

I am a writer, and I can’t write without feeling things, I haven’t been feeling it since I met you.

But baby, how can that be my fault, I haven’t done anything wrong, he protested.

Shut up and fuck me to oblivion, my head hurts.

He obliged, she is his sin and everything is about her.

* This is written based on Denise’s Six Sentence Story prompt – Sin

Date Night

Let’s go to Luna Park at night
When exhausted children heading home with big smiles
You and I go for rides in empty carts

We warm up with Ferris Wheel slowly climbs into the sky
watching twinkling lights

Bring back teenager romance on the Tango Train
Our breaths and bodies pulled in one by physics

Loosen ourselves on the Boomerang Rollercoaster
Momentarily break off restraint like horizontal yoyos

Before Mr Whippy’s iconic ice cream treat
Catch the thrill of the Hair Raiser
We get temporary hairdos
Mistaken our stomachs for hearts

I had a wonderful night darling
You made me smile and shine
We kissed under the lights
falling once again in each other’s eyes

Second Best

There were three persons in that relationship. He probably didn’t realise, but she was acutely aware from day one. She had learned to trust her instincts which was a God given gift.

Love is a complicated thing as much as it is plain and simple. There was no room for three. She didn’t show up in his life and serve as a pick-me-up because he was toyed around by his goddess who he worshipped endlessly. The illusive and may-be-one-day possibility hanged over his mind and their new found relationship.

Love is a beautiful thing. It can make you forget any sadness and insufficiency. But time is a cruel reminder. Any newness and rawness eventually wore off. Old habits and feelings crept back in. After all, she was his second best. She couldn’t work out what happened and what changed.

Love is fragile, and it breaks so easily. A slip off the careless hand, a snuffle by unexplainable silence, or a hesitation that lasted a little too long, all shattered in pieces at once. It was a sad reality really, no one came out undone from that crowded room, even it was only in the head space. Our minds set us free as much as imprison us. She chose to fly far away from their love maze and wanted no part in it for self preservation, and she was right, all along.

Pas Ce Soir

Friday night
the city becomes alive

She touches up her red lips
just in time for the stranger’s arrival

The conversation between them are smooth
gliding over her Persian blue silk blouse
and his flattering compliment

His fingertips casually strike out thermal waves
with each intentional brush of her arm

It’s getting beyond cosy warm there
and his scent smells late night passion
He moves closer and whispers desire in her ear

Confronted by his tempting invitation
she pinches herself hard
leaving a mark on her inner thigh
where wild nights used to overstay
and never had the courtesy to pay her with respect

She remembers all that devastating aftermath
So she leans over and whispers to him
“Pas Ce Soir”

My Best Is Poisonous

love boils down 
to ordinary minutes and hours
it is hard to escape 
from the mundane 
of food, sleep 
and bathroom trips

it makes it harder 
to please you
when my cooking always
falls short of your mother's

the only thing I manage better
is baking cakes
which turns out to be
a slow murder
to the diabetic you

Purple Dream

I remember watching you disappeared into the sea of jacaranda last Spring.
You took the ending chapter of our story with you and left me with the blank pages.

Last night, I dreamed of reading by the jacaranda tree. Purple hearts filled the empty pages overflowing like confetti.

In the morning I reached out for the remnant of you. But the Autumn air was cold enough to frost my purple dream.