City Of Lies

I'm seated at the peak. The wind serenades the silence. The skyline could be a photograph if not for the blinking lights. The city's towers look like middle fingers pointed to the heavens.

The offices lit with people dreading to leave because they know they must return -- dreading to stay because the hours burn into their eyeballs, yet lining their wallets and padding their egos.

They worship: every desk; an altar. Every flickering screen; a sacrificial flame. The clock counts down to its death, like incense burning, they both make for watery eyes.

Then we aged into mere reflections of true religion, paying tribute to temples of the night. We still sing amidst our failures, while the rhythm of lies are drummed into our subconscious.

You are loved, but barely. Expect to be treated unfairly. Grow old and weak, but pray you do not get sick. And if you do fall ill, it must be God's will. 

I think of you, your name like a whisper the wind teases to iron out the ceases of my crumpled soul. Gentle breezes bring me back to a simple love, when the heart reached out for another, and that was all that mattered.

It was different then; our voices pure, our vision unwavering, our dreams untainted, precious and raw.

- Daryl Goh

I've Been Dirtier Than You'll Ever Know

I.
I am not a ripple-making rock thrown into the pond of eternity with my significance fading away as it gets further from me. I am a mighty meteor crashing into the middle of the ocean. You are terrible tranquility and I'm here to tsunami your psalm trees and shake up your sandy beaches, your obsession with the sin-ery.  God's thoughts toward you are countless like the sand. You were meant to build castles and kingdoms, not number them. Consider the time that each grain represents, as it slips away through the hourglass of eternity. Tell me. These words. Don't you love these words? Don't you love their sound, their comfort. How they never expect anything except your satisfaction? You could never afford this. You have never paid your dues. We are never easy. And yet we are prostitutes; Why did you let them throw pigs among pearls?

II.
Tighten your hold. Vice-like grip.
This dagger would never slip.
Blade blaze. Already blasé
from the taste of blood.
Must possess beauty. Must mark it.
Exist only in memory.
Dagger's tip and Masterpiece must meet
First lightly. And slowly.
Fingers fleet over terrain; Over dreams slain.
Feel destruction in every crater,
As flesh gives way to steel, to lead,
To voices in your head.
Where perfection retreats.
Left hand stabs. Right inspects.
Soon we're playing five-finger fillet.
One-two, one-three, one-four, one-five, one-six
Two-six, three-six, four-six...
Sooner or later you'll be playing butcher.
Squeeze me. What did you expect to see?
Tear out these veins and see worship stain the pews.
Go ahead and stare. Make a scene.
Scream and call it horror.
The greater horror are the millions dying slow deaths
in buildings we call places of worship
Playing a game called religion.

- Daryl Goh