Somehow, I cannot neglect the doubt that is it too good to be real.

Creeping into my dream,
We whispered under the blanket as if having home-made porridge in grandma’s house.
Luke-warm bodies settled.
The illusion of the closeness did not put the dream to rest that easy,
Brewing and waiting.
You were suddenly triggered,
The guardian of the netherworld has realized with a splash of lighting,
Breach of the contract, unforgivable betrayal.
Nails has become the machete, prepared and inches away to enter my chest,
Crumbled pale paper, your face has become.
The unbearable terror, and I was prisoned onto the bed.
I woke myself up.

The truth is,
The following day, no matter what kind of deviant activities we have curiously took on.
There is not one bizarre container, to which I shall find to pour your love.
In a land of silent passion and prevailing revenge.
Arrows were aimed and on action once receiving the instruction from the cruel dictator.
From the blackhole of your unforgiving ancient tenderness.
Only to deprive the last bit of connections with us.
No man’s land is made.
I had to wake up.
The blackhole twisted the remaining hope into a devastating hurricane,
Being one dot at last, which I dare not to look back again.

Jupiter served love and lust in a silver plate,
The plate you never seem to remember the texture or the reflection of yourself.
It was expanding, yet we forgot to ask,
Does it come with the light or the night.

Saturn will show up, at a later point of time.
To shatter the foggy glasses and the ambiguous light in the room.
You will feel suppression, you will feel there is no way to hide, you will be forced to reckon the metrics of the monster you were facing.
And that turns out, unexpectedly, to be the only mercy of the night.

~Carol Shi