this is where i
lose
the chain of second-
hand dreams,
the waves of an unspoken
secret
lap against the door
that i have to keep repainting
white
because the colour of sky
blue sometimes catches

and it grates on me, a swerve
and i diminish
swallow the memory but keep
the rawness that eats into
the bonds you thought were
strong

the house where you grew up
in, see the gaps and furniture
and how the past sleeps cozy
not just to remind you

how fast things could
go wrong

but also how soon hurt can
heal.