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.



The most recent being:
The Promised

They are waiting
For me
Their mouths open, gaping
Tin love with thick voices.
The beast is never let in too soon
He waits outside for the night
He waits till just before dawn.

It was not you I wanted
It was the alcohol
It was the night
It was absolute abandon.

They are inching in by the yard
Taking over my lids, my fingers
Chrome shackles and smooth vermillion ribbons
And I cave in

My heart shall stop.

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