OLIVIA CHAN | CREATIVES
Tighten your seatbelt and Store your phone away. Put your sunglasses down and Relax to the ticking sound. But my eyes snap wide open, Eyelids peeled back, Red and moistened, The whites of my eyes exposed. And my pupils are focused, Unlike a student's focus, On a white beam glaring down, Focused on my down. And it puts into focus The thoughts that trickle when I'm down, That tickle the corners and Mingle with core memories Of white sound; Uncoloured and constant Distant yet adjacent To the fence of my house. Here comes the big dipper — Hold on tight! Don't scream for mum Because she won't hear your "fun". The sounds of screaming Are merely choruses of joy Even when my skin is bleeding She'll think it was a boy. Holding your breath? Just breathe harder! But how can I do that when: Throat clogged—
Nose blocked—
Tight clothes— Mind a fog. And she'll think it was a boy. Can you see the merry-go-round? Children laughing, Parents waving. But I couldn't feel it swaying So I faked it's motions Over my parents' commotion.
Money should be used better indeed,
Instead of this childish steed.
Shooting, fishing and bowling games Make their appearance in your gaze. I'll make it sound like a counting game And leave you alone to find no one came. And the trains were loud But I stood there proud Until my feet hurt, Wondering where my friends were. The end is in sight Are your eyelids heavy yet? Lunar Park is almost closed Put your sunglasses on and pose.
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