wonderland

“because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

photo of a sculpture at Gardens By The Bay by dsnake1



wonderland


how long was he there, sleeping, head on the stone table in the void deck, blackbirds pecking at his forgotten boxed lunch?

if your words hurt then touch me, charm me so that the hole i am dropping in won't feel so deep, the rocks no more sharp.

out in the streets, in the weak moonlight, i am trying to find my shadow, the big trucks passing, just two steps away from hell.

and how deep can we sink before we drown, before the lungs fold slowly like accordions and we finally forget how to cry?

if we grow wings we would spread them, jump and fly together, never mind the distances, the abysses and the load
  /
/
we carry.



23/11/2020
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Drop's -「月光」(moonlight)

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021