love amidst a good vibration
on the 16th of February,So did a family die.What passion displaced of the soulThen burned, All never did live.but the fire had been surrogateand the lens, however painful,did pierce through the past in the womb.You never knew how much it hates daylight.on the 15th of February,As did a woman, realisedIf a pram contained past photosRight to brim,it disappearscos' the lens of your camerawere not on me, your unrolled filmon which you laid, undeveloped.I hid myself to protect your past.on the 14th of February, nightFuck we did in your wet couchYou were drunk and melancholyDie was what you said you should.you clasped my hands tight to your chestasked me to stay with you, perhapsyou'd at last see me as a whole.Amidst silent dismay of my phoneI ignore, shut out, and close my eyes.Johnson Soon