Labels written in a clear, neat hand.
Evidence held in little jars.

I note daily degredation of samples left:

• The pride I placed upon my head
  To shout aloud your views expressed
  Bottled here, beneath my bed,

• The hope I once wore as a badge
  Hammered to a rusting shield,
  Edges worn, and thin and sharp
  Trails its iron through my heart,

• Joy that shone like glitter paint
  Suspended, hung amidst the fog
  It caught the light reflected from
  Your sense of self-entitlement.

I loved you. Not well but long
And now you slip and creep away.

Leaving me for someone young
A fresh experiment begun.

All Rights Reserved – Alicia Fitton 2019

Picture by Monicore