Euginia Tan

by Horror Sleaze Trash on November 6, 2012

Euginia Tan’s debut collection of poetry, Songs About Girls, was published in 2012. She still writes, eats and sleeps. Stalk her or send her death threats at






i’m sorry but when you

told me today

that you might have a relapse

i was already thinking of

how big a share

of inheritance

i would get.


last night your chestnut brown wig

crawled into my room and

gagged me with its synthetic scent

of artificial roots and permanent dye

trying to suffocate me with

its overly maintained plastic silkiness


so i wished you good luck

for your second screening

this morning.





i passed by an

accident scene

on my way to ballet.


each time i leapt

trying to twirl in mid-air

i would land, ankle crooked


wondering how

the bloodied dead body

soaked in red


would appear

en pointe

pirouetting in the middle of the road


where his spectators

would stand awed

even more so than at the presence


of lazarus

who rolled boulders away

while my corpse bowed clumsily


on the rough gravelly stage

that took his breath away

and made me feel my age.





i know there’s something in that drink you just handed me



as i am wont to

wantonness and

prone to sudden spells

of suddenly lubricating

my cheap underwear lined with lace


i will gladly drink up and let you do whatever you deem fit

there’s a whip in the boot

cuffs under my pillow and

a policeman uniform hidden at

the very back








she told me she

had dreams and grand schemes

of successfully murdering

her baby sister one day.

this lanky young girl

with gaudy motifs on her shirts

her chest still flat and face too flushed

from pre-adolescence.

this lanky girl no heavier than my little finger

telling me repeatedly

over and over again

how she would brandish her knife (from the kitchen

where i watched her just make me lunch;

spaghetti with mushrooms, tomato, chicken thigh.)

and stick it in the soft

jelly-like folds of her sister’s gut

letting the thrill of the first stab

course through her own scrawny frame first

then giving in to rage

two, three, ten and twenty

deliberate well-administered strokes

of her weapon of choice.


she says all this with relish

her wiry braces glinting

winking at me as though daring me

to be her partner in crime.


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