Maybe if things had been different.
Maybe if hypocrisy wasn't so rampant.
Maybe if you actually had functional firefighting equipment.
Because I don't.
All I have is an uneasy, hypertraumatised
contentment.
A sense of perpetual, neverending refinement.
And a mind so unprescient
that I didn't realise, until it was far too late,
of what, and who, this would all represent:
an overstimulated sentience.
An inalienable conscience.
And a living, breathing experience
of body neutrality, unabashedly gayforward Singaporean sexuality
and the grace enough to be lenient
with every person in the universe except myself:
this is what it means to live every day like it is an unbreakable testament
that only and exclusively heaven can over come out of the right kind of extremely unjust and abusive hell.
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