Pillowbook Poems

Siyu Lei
→ BFA SC + PT 2025

Still up at 14-year-old night

I am terrified, of coyotes, of zombies, of tsunamis, of the waterless California catching fire. Every night I calculate the perfect angle of my bedroom door, so at the same time I keep everything out and leave fast if I need to. Then I hide under my comforter, fight asomatous beings. The mirror cannot be pointing at me, the clock cannot tick, I cannot turn my head back fast, or the three flames of life on my shoulder will sputter out. I find a posture that avoids all dangers. I lie in this invisible coffin stiffly. I can’t find a way to cool off my hand, nor a way to warm up my feet. I close my eyes, but still stare. I can only now imagine an orgy happening in the hallway because I have never seen demons in porn, maybe they don’t like these.

Still up at 17-year-old night

How soon will the universe explode? How many more days can I live with my parents? I am the main character, right? Then, when my bones are picked clean, put me in museum. Or what do you do? The world leaves me; what does it do? I write one will after another, piling them up in a mess, filling up my bedroom. And now sleep, sleep, sleep paralysis is a hug from above. Time is running out, seriously; tomorrow I need to wake up early. But the lacrimal gland is two cut wounds. On my pillow, tears crystallize into salt. Next day when Mama asks me why I have a swollen eye, I say last night I ate too salty.

Still up at 20-year-old night

I once thought that art is born within sorrow. Since my body serves my art, I will turn sorrow into nourishment. Like a cult wish, I got what I wanted, and it crushed me like mucus from covid sequelae. No matter how hard I tried to blow it out, it was still clogged here like a steady stream. I thought I could never recover. I thought if I whined to others endlessly it would leave like how words leave air—easily. But I stopped after a while. I should have understood The New Year’s Sacrifice by Lu Xun a little earlier. I tried the old methods, but I wanted to throw up when I saw porn, and sleep paralysis never came to me again. Maybe god doesn't like these, so god retrieved the gifts.

十四岁那晚还没睡

我很害怕，害怕郊狼，害怕丧尸，害怕海啸。害怕这无水的加州燃起火来。我每晚计算着卧室门的最佳角度，能让我把一切挡在外的同时又能快速离开。然后我会躲进被子里，与无质的存在搏斗。镜子不可以冲着我，钟表不可以有声音，不可以快速的回头，不然肩膀上的生命之火就会熄灭。我找到了一个姿势可以规避一切危险，我僵硬的躺在这无形的棺材中。我的手凉不下来，脚热不起来。我闭上眼，仍注视着一切。我只能想象着现在有一帮男女在我的门前交媾，因为我从来没有在黄片里见过鬼，可能他们不喜欢这样。

十七岁那晚还没睡

宇宙毁灭是不是比想象中要近？我还能再见爸爸妈妈几次？我是主角，对吧？那当我变成白骨之时，把我置放在博物馆里吧。不然你们要怎么办？这世界离开我，又将怎么办？我写下一封封遗嘱，胡乱的堆在一起，快要把房间填满。睡吧睡吧，鬼压床是上至下的拥抱。时间不够了，真的，明天还要早起。可是我只会哭。泪水在枕头上结成盐晶。第二天妈妈问我为什么眼睛肿，我只是说吃的太咸了。

二十岁那晚还没睡

我曾觉得，艺术诞生于悲伤，我的肉体服务于它。如果我不够悲伤，我就无法喂养它。就像是邪教徒许的愿望，我得到了我要的，可是它压垮我了。像新冠后遗症的痰涕一样，不论如何去擤，驱赶出身体，它还是源源不断的堵在那里。我以为这场重病不会好。我以为和别人不停的倾诉它就可以如话语一样轻飘飘的离开，不过一阵子后，我也不想再说了。我应该早点读懂《祝福》。试了试老办法，可是我看见黄片就想吐，鬼压床也不再有，可能神不喜欢这样，所以收走了一切美梦。

Siyu Lei is still up.