Winsy Tink Biography

Words that were never meant to be said
Or by the skeptical eye be read
Stole through my lips
Trickling through my fingertips
...

If waking is no escape from terrible dreams,
nor sleeping relief from my waking hours -
If my senses confuse conception with reality
(Or has reality always been a pure product of the mind?) -
...

Gently as the murmuring stream
Trickles through pebbled valleys in search of ambitious seas -
...

There is a leakage in my lungs
Caused by a splinter invisible to the eye
The atmospheric pressure chokes my breath
It sucks away my vigour, my elixir
...

[This was written a week after I returned home after spending the past five years in UK. I was already missing London, where I had done university, and home was not really home in the sense of fitting in and feeling comfortable, because it had changed so much I didn't know this place called 'home' anymore.]

You ask me
Why my face has become so –
...