PICTURE PERFECT by Loh Guan Liang

In my mind there are many nails. On each nail
hangs a photograph framed by forgotten faces and
back-alley remembrances. Sometimes when I close my eyes
these photographs dissolve into rust, coating the tongue
- words that dream of rain with outstretched arms.

For as much as I love words I do not know how to use them. There are many wishes at the tip of my tongue, waiting to fall like time bombs.
I will regret.
So I swallow them and let them tick inside of me, washing over my thoughts and dreams till they fade or form reality. Till then -