Deflowering

Like forgetting your headphones on a long journey,Like the holes between knitwear,Like water dripping between clenched fingers,Seeping like white t-shirts and bloodied wounds,This flower of red, blooms.And Memory forgets herself.

Dream with Death

Simon Chen She was in her childhood forest again: her hair was still crimson silver, but her face had no wrinkles. She had become younger. She wore her hoody again, and she had a pack of food and drinks in her hand, enough for her to travel three days. The forest had not changed much: […]