her hitler hairdo.

I am Ave, an overworked underappreciated Law undergrad from Singapore. My blog is linked at the top of this main page. You must excuse the bareness of the layout - function over form, as the Bauhaus men put it. (Disregarding the fact that form itself is one such function.) And yes, the pink has been changed to something asexual.

I write poetry when I feel - many people do, actually - and I feel most when emotions are extreme. For censorship purposes, I shall withhold my list of such extreme emotions. This collection of my poetry dates back two years since I started writing properly. You will frequently come across lists upon lists of random yet related words. They are an everpresent reminder that I must one day know what they are to be properly called, in a focal literary sense.

But until then, I present to you Her Hitler Hairdo, and pray that you will be as destabilized reading my work as I was writing it.

Name: ave

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The most recent being:

The Vine

Vines
They lie intertwined
The thorns bruise
A delicious rugburn
And he strokes
Her hair
Drunk
On sin and darkness
The cold air and tossing figures

Vines
They are too far apart
And when they're not, they pierce
Right
Through
And he strokes
She's a shadow
Banished.
When they gave their souls
They both lost
And he could never again give her what she thought she wanted.

A stirring pang
Popped like a premature pimple.

About Me