Christmas.

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Bit of a review of my year, bit of everything in my life (and not).

Christmas. The season of giving. Really isn’t. To me, every day is the season of giving.

Friends would know that I often go out of the way to help them, talk to them, and care about them.

 

 

Except that I dont.

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My Little Secret

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Greetings, readers. I apologise for the dearth of updates. This semester has been a tiring one. I will try to post more frequently now that it’s the holidays and I have nothing else to do really. No promises though.

My little secret? Let me just skip all the pleasantries and break it out for you right now.

I have forgotten how to cry.

It’s true. I cannot even remember the last time I cried. It was probably in lower secondary, when I broke something, and It hurt like a bitch. And I cried like a bitch.

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How Will I Know

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Oh it’s you I know, you’re the one I dream of
Looks into my eyes, takes me to the clouds above,
Oh I lose control, can’t seem to get enough,
When I wake from dream, tell me is it really love,

How will I know if you really love me
I say a prayer with every heart beat
I fall in love whenever we meet
I’m asking you what you know about these things

How will I know if you’re thinking of me
I try to call but I’m too shy (can’t speak)
Falling in love is so bitter sweet
This love is strong why do I feel weak

Oh wake me, I’m shaking, wish I had you near me now,
Said there’s no mistaking, what I feel is really love,

How will I know
How will I know
How will I know
How will I know

How will I know if you really love me
I say a prayer with every heart beat
I fall in love whenever we meet
I’m asking you what you know about these things

How will I know if you’re thinking of me
I try to phone but I’m too shy (can’t speak)
Falling in love is so bitter sweet
This love is strong why do I feel weak.

Yup.

Untitled.

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Like a cookie-cutter, held with a firm grip, palms spread across the steel circle.

Slowly marking out the desired area, inching closer.

Then, as it touches the surface- the hand becomes steady, confident.

The cookie cutter plunges in, like a fist into a velvet pillow.

But instead of steel meeting the soft, elasticity of butter, sugar, eggs, and flour mixed evenly together-

Skin. Flesh.

Skin, giving the unfamiliar resistance. The hands on the cookie cutter draws back, perturbed, hesitant, but never letting the steel lose contact.

Again. Both hands.

Steel plunges into skin with renewed determination. Blood appears along the circumference, glistening in the light, then slowly flowing down; running down the left side of the body.

The body doesn’t flinch one bit.

The cookie cutter stops. Something was in the way. Breastbone? Ribcage?

The disembodied hands begin to turn the cookie cutter.

“Blunt steel, meet bone. I don’t believe you’ve met.”

The grinding of metal against bone, and the occasional shriek- not from the body, but from these two meeting- echoes through the room.

The shrieks conduct, through the bones; throughout the body.

But still it lay there, unmoving.

Turning, grinding, shrieking. For hours, for days.

But the progress it makes through bone only minute; only scratching the surface.

The heart stays safe, for now, beating regularly, behind the layer of bone.

But it knows it’s next.

That’s what it feels like.