They don't tell you that   it doesn't get better, but it changes        grief is harder when they're still alive youth is only adulthood without experience it's easier to speak than to think about it  


A mellow wind        The glowing heat Phantom sunlight Lost language   weaves through   the heaviness of your words the echo of the city the fiction of others a lie written in cursive


As you   live between parentheses        count the freckles on your body let the cold air soothe you stand barefoot in the shadow




You remember   the blue of the fridge light        the sound of candle light the chalk on the road a lonely bag in a tree   but not   how you felt at the end of the arguement the way they whispered goodbye how they begged you not to go when you were supposed to leave  


  Alphabets        Violent colours Lost sediments Grey areas   are careful not to   unseal the vacuum you created around yourself       deceive you in a language you do not understand       ask you when autumn ends search for a house in the rain


Your thoughts linger between   cigarette smoke        cheap tv cold coffee an off licence   and   leaving in the middle of the night finding shelter from the wind an attempt to tell another lie remembering how the year has gone





Years of   borrowed moments        distant memories open doors intuition   have turned into   sunbleached terracotta an erased hard drive a jigsaw from a charity shop the colour of the weather


You no longer   mention their name at midnight        live on the verge of youthfulness search for a plot use the seasons as an excuse for change