The last child of Singapore

So
You are it
The last there ever will be
Singaporean child born of Singaporean parents born of Singaporean grandparents born of Singaporean great grandparents

You are a rarity
Does the river flow in your blood more than mine
Singaporean born of Singaporean parents born of immigrants? 
Does the Singapore heartbeat beat stronger in you than me?
Or are we no different any more?

10 line poem I ask

I ask for peace of mind
I say look within
I ask how
I say you know how
I ask why you annoy me like this
I say you know why
I ask you to bugger off
I say you can ask that you can
I ask you to stay
I say of course I always will

Voices in my head

Howl

I howl at the moon
That lone sphere
Pulling me towards it

As it turns
showing more of itself
night after night
So do I. .. prowling
nearer and nearer
The tender ones

Not to snap and snip at young fresh blood
Not for taste or to whet that appetite
But
For love
To love
And be loved

To father young ones like me
To carry on my terrible fantastic legacy
Now I am amongst a few
Misunderstood
By the monsters
Who think me one instead

I bite to create
And they will too
And none will be left but us
To roam
To dream
To be

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The frankenstein condition
That the other be the monster
That beauty be defined by the majority
That the right to live with dignity be accorded accordingly
And that to supercede this system one becomes the monster everyone sees
One seeks to find love in like  and create alike
The monster seeks a bride

Wasn't going to do this prompt don't really like urban legends not sure vhf the were wolf counts? But here I try anyway.

Who could love a creature
Like me
But another beautiful aberation

This colour orange

This colour...feels,tastes,smells and sounds
____

This colour is hot
Like embers glowing before ashing out
Like tips of tongues bringing down forests
Like rays of a disc that melts the wax of a man-bird who flies too high

This colour is tangy
Abounding during the Lunar New Year
Arriving in pairs, passed from hand to hand
Round, small, falling apart at the centre, juices running down your arms

This colour is pungent
Rising from rice cooked with saffron
Tinged with sweet scented cinnamon and cloves
Telling of warm, warm comfort

This colour is booming
Its brightness deafens
Filling your spheres with sounds sans colour
All else shrinks to a faint echo, lingering after

Colour poem

Why would I describe
That which you cannot see
And hurt you

Her wound is blooming
Blossoming deepening
She hurts

You can feel the
Rivulets from the cut
Feel its viscousness
Like pus from a popped pimple

She cries
For you to hug her
Her tears
The colour of her face

Which you don't need to see to love

Urban legend poem

Nounless poem

Trying for a baby

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They are
Dreaming
desiring
Trying
Talking
Coaxing
crying
screaming
Sinking
and despairing

They are
pleading
Praying
Dreaming
Doubting