Lastly

Trauma (n): The shattering of the assumptive world.


Nursing disappointment in the blue  and white blanket that almost raised you.

Meet yourself here where the silence drapes across the skin. Settles like a web and memory forgets how air is taken in.

The wind scattered words that were to be strung across the delicate branches of our growing trees.

She played him a song, notes curved on the red floors. He squinted, smiled, didn’t get it.

The silence is a held note and hope? Hope is a biting insomnia. It is two front teeth gnawing at the shape of reality waiting for what should come.

Teal is the colour of things misplaced and too many in-betweens, always but not enough. Too much.

The laughter is a crack, splintering of wood. Listen, you will hear it.

Or you won’t.

Everything, everything, everything just to survive yourself.


Cover art: Michaela Yearwood-Dan.

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