***
(edited 18/2/06 after some thought and beer and cigarettes and %&*ing my guys at freaking 1.30am this freaking morning, while nursing the %&*ing thought that we have a %&*ing roadshow setup at 1am 19/2/06. %&*s.)
Jumpstart
I got jump-started.
You know the feeling. Waking,
choked from the only kind of sleep
you get on the long ride home.
The type that renders air-conditioning useless
because you wake drenched
regardless where you position the vent and
how empty the bus was.
The seat beside me was vacant,
still warm.
I swore I felt the full weight of
your head resting on my lap.
Heard you whisper softly
all the things I loved hearing
you utter,
over and over again.
I remembered running my fingers
through the entire length of your hair,
then pulling it so hard;
I actually made you cry.
I believe, that
was the exact moment
when I woke.
***
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1 comment:
but mr. sim, those are 2 different things. truly you may be a very nice person etc etc, but poetry should never have to depend on the force of its author's personality to carry it through. it must stand on its own.
i may be harsh, but you should have read alot more before deciding to print this.
have a good week too.
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