Cin-digi Journal

Death will have the face of my father  my mother's embrace, my granny's bike.  It will sit with me on the front porch during the relatives' Lunar New Year visits, smelling fond of expensive candies and red lucky money. It will curl up with me on the couch, watching my father reorganizes his paperwork and vinyls for a work trip My mother prepares dinner It would be there in my parents' bedroom. I would be small again, enough that I still fit on their bed. Then I would fall asleep And maybe, I would wake up, my mother by my side, favorite stuffy in my arms The TV playing familiar tunes  My granny's down in the kitchen making breakfast My father and the relatives would arrive by bus real soon.  Then all of us are at the dining table My grandfather is here too, in suit and tie, not a hospital gown My cousins would beckon me over  And we would make a mess while running about.  Death will cradle me in its arms  The serenity of my childhood would replay over ...

 The asphyxiation of a duvet's chrysalis Still can't be as hot as the wrap of your arms around my body; still can't be as heavy as your pleas sinking down on me.  You beg me to make it stop To curl into you and sleep To not be afraid of a love so tender But how could I throw up what I once were? Because what didn't kill me Pulls me off of my bed with the burnt remnants of the day and sprawls across my chest While you're somewhere far away. The disgust that I couldn't end Would become a hare rubbing at my feet incessantly reminding me of it's existence. one so repulsive Eyeing the white bunny in my hands. How could you ever love a roadkill Full of filth and bleeding out on concreate? Don't you ever get tired of saving me every time? Don't you ever get tired of holding me in your arms? Breathing and limping Just for me to leap out again towards the road. Your patience is burning but I keep feeding off of it You can's save something that finds joy ...

 1)  The silence after I relapsed is the silence that tears everything apart from the inside out. The silence after I relapsed buzzes like a helicopter miles away stirring the world yet nowhere to be seen. The silence of the therapist's office her yellow lamp the couch cushion against my seat again i'm fourteen. The silence that clings to us the silence that deafens me and a promise i didn't keep now a teary plea.  Is this a call for help or an apology, a way to cope or an epiphany? The silence after I relapsed still not sure which part is mine.  2)   Tình yêu như nắng Qua kẽ lá xanh Hạ đi đông đến Nắng vẫn rũ vàng Tình là họng súng Của kẻ mộng mơ Một lần súng rít Ngỡ như muôn đời Tình là trẻ nhỏ Chỉ vui tíu tít tình nào đâu biết người chẳng mong chờ 3) Chết  Là giọt sương giăng trên gỗ đá Là nước mắt nóng trên thịt da Là màu xanh trên gốm trắng Là khói đỏ trên mong manh. Chết đi cũng lại là một ngày nắng một vòng mặt trời xoay một câu ru em cuối phố phận t...