#22.11.17

the memories only viewed through frosted glass

from a considerable distance,

out of focus newspaper shreds

from eight elongated years past.

scruffy milk teethed scrawn of an indignant child

only teetering on the very edge

of the biggest black hole of her life,

oblivious and ugly stained with brattish innocence.

so no, these memories twisted with a childs gaze

don't have reason to reoccur often.

only in those unrealised moments;

pervading scent of just burnt toast and cheese,

plonk of scattered out of tune piano keys,

brown suit jackets and faded

pastel pink and blue carpets.

hard mints and greenhouses.

a slotted mish mash, slipping through the net

of everything else practical,

that moment at one am where

it all collides, where i am

trying to catch my breath because

the sliding socks and too short sleeved flustered

mess of a child girl wishes she had hugged you

so much tighter before she turned

the corner of a slate hospital corridor and