Recovery
Forgetting you, in loving someone else,
Is no less painful than the pressing wounds;
When she loves someone else, the many hells
I go through seem to know no bounds.
It is part soul, part instinct after all,
To draw the utmost pain into a trap
And sterilise the wounds with alcohol.
None of this owes to mishap.
You broke my heart so badly that the only
Way I can recover is to let
Somebody else break it some more, so lonely
Fragments are bound to none in debt:
Grind it into dust and blinding grit
(And wash away the purple stains with bleach)
So I might shape a something out of it:
An apple perhaps, or a peach.
— Toh Hsien Min
