her hitler hairdo.

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:

Stolen

Cold blue air
The room of mist and haze
Hushed low voices
The adultery of the audience
Hastily pushing into corridors
Where warm air blows a sultry red

The lights dim and
People flow slowly out
Thin as clear white
In the glass cage
Smelling like a one year old

The painting stirs
Her eyes follow the last man
He is lust.
Longing for him
Metal frames pierce her body
The small fragility
Chinese rice paper with beautiful corrosion

Lovingly created and refined
Worked on and displayed
But willingly on sale

Her hair falls like black tears on a white sheet
Incongruous thoughts
Like fragments of glass
Abandoned carelessly
A deadly lattice of lace
Smashed and

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