ESCAPE Issue II

ESCAPE Issue II
student-run literary magazine
published in Dominican International School
Taipei, Taiwan


ESCAPE// Issue II

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cult (the end)

June 12, 2017

3.
you counted
the wandering lost souls in the
dark while
i fed upon your tears like it was the only thing that
mattered.
to think that i
would have lived an eternity with your
breath upon my shoulders,

when
the lights still shined on in
nights without
you.

remind yourself that you matter,
love.

death of a child

June 8, 2017

you told me
you would have married perfection if you could.
i saw
you would have cared for perfection if you could.
instead, you could only love
the acceptable
amidst the mess you created.
oh, but the beauty died
within her each
passing day
under the shadows of
your being–
deprived of the sun, of everything you didn’t have.
and yet you wonder
the obvious
why was
your mass of
imperfection
dead?

i swallowed
the syrup you fed into my system.
you told me you were always right.

my labyrinth

June 6, 2017

some fear the
prospects
of wandering
in the foreign
mess, tangle, chaos–
the lack of soundness
ringing too
loud-
ly–
, but the labyrinth of your mind
is everything
i wanted to be
trapped in.
can one ever be confined in something more beautiful than the very existence of being and consciousness from which you stem?
maybe the
growing
mass of
fallen
petals
will one day
tell.

the one (that got away)

June 5, 2017

now,
i surround myself
with
everything
irrelevant
dead roses,
plastic toys,
torn out books,
empty music–
because
its sight
gives me
purpose.
dominance may be a construct
, but so were you,
and you seemed like the
only part of
me that
was real.
i need purpose
because
even though we weren’t
real,
i can’t help but
think that the part
of me
that you took away
was.

the color you once were

I am now pure and cleansed of my soul
and so unlike myself–
nothing but a patient in this
white,
painted world.
I see the plastic red and yellow; they now appear too bright.
Purpose incentives pain and through my broken
pieces, I
surrender, by nature’s last
breath–
never subject to the loud
nature I once possessed.

Heart flowing out;
blood of red
blossoms.
The deafening white peace seems dead.

When one’s
nightmare, now starts from the opening
of eyes.