The colour of your thoughts,
Grows deeper with the ticking days,
And slowly filling hourglass of childhood.
Crayon height marks fade on the wall,
Posters peeling from humid teenage angst,
Bending with the parents of the restless home from
The strain of endless questions to no reply.
The village or town is never smart enough,
For the one in adolescent cynicism,
Nauseated by clichés and teardrops
Landing on tattered trainers and soggy jeans.
Memories which have yet to be tugged,
Of reunions of school friends involving that
Glorified moment. The success.
The horizon of realism and time,
Rule a churning tide of undone
Promises of hard work and saving.
‘Did you think you’d have finished your
First novel by the time you were seventeen?’
You might think they’re worried,
About you taking pills and straying.
The truth is mundanely middle-aged,
Fear takes it forms in college bills
In desperate need of paying.
