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

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