Tagged: living



The stage is empty, the lights are all on and streaming white fluorescent, and the floor is polished.

I stand on the floor with little hope in my mouth and a dry throat that screams for more
Sitting down in my chair backstage, shut behind a door with stars around my name,
I don’t think I have anything else to lose . No more to give away, nothing left on my body. The plastic melds against my back, and it feels warm. Uncomfortably warm, with the black sequins of my shirt clinging to the curve of my back like a large brace. Too warm to be sunshine,
Sweat beads.
I run back out, ignoring the calls of several people – my manager, my parents on the phone, my Twitter Timeline, the Facebook feed blowing up with pictures of fish-netted girls and pale-skinned girls and girls who change their Chinese name to something else, selling out to Western markets in order to buy into their own dreams. I step onto the empty stage with a sense of longing to be on it again, despite the nerve-attacks and
rolling belly,
I want to feel it all again. I want to feel the
pleasurable pain of a dream
Come to life.


You promise yourself a lot of things
But everlasting youth couldn’t be attained
What is innocence? Simply an age of five-to-fifteen?
What are tissues; simply items to mop your cheeks away, clean
of evidence of destruction and self-despair.
How do people swill in their sorrows
and pop those spilling out with a pill
When I can hardly breathe, living with myself.
It’s short and sweet, I think, keeping my head down,
my hoodie flipped up, eyes on the sidewalk and hands in my pockets
Life is short and sweet, so I’ll just live like how I want to.
But there is this pain,
insufferable pain,
blinding pain,
that screams to me in the comfort of darkness;
I want to hide under it, for it’s
warm. The dark is warm,
Things don’t work anymore. They simply do not, hence
I stop the machine.