Friday, October 24, 2014

Pieces

It was the year of tarmac, the year everyone got their knees bruised on the newly paved lanes and had their knuckles injured from punching hollowed out walls, sprayed with graffiti of religious slurs and sexual taboo. It was your idea to burn it down to recreate the Berlin Wall effect and we smelled like gasoline for the entire night..

These days, I'm numb from tripping on your memory, so I bandaged myself with the prospect of a better tomorrow where I get to see my favorite smile, I've been replaying it in my head ever since I saw it on you.

I remember incidentally meeting a tattoo artist and asking her for the shape of your birthmark to be inked on my thighs and a hint of your skin was stitched into me.

Flashbacks of your Parliament-soaked shirt burns my nose whenever I pass by smokers huddled up outside my building and a dose of your scent lingers.

The asphalt road has gone stale.
The shameless wall burned to the ground.

I yearn for gasoline.

2 comments:

lee woo said...

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Leslie Lim said...

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