The paint wakes me up
Jubilant white
It is not soft and sweet like rabbit
It gets under my nose
Like something isn’t right
I kept her safe
In my pocket
My little blue butterfly
Waiting to soar
The constant hum in my pocket
Her wings
Trying
Trying
I sat on the pink box
It was so cold
In the paper clothes
Too real
For me
And Alice
Time scrambled and squashed in stained sheets
We came home
Bumpety bump
In the white van
The man who was dying
Smiled at me
Something about beautiful
And lots of time left
How terrible to gobble up
Waste
The very thing he desired
I swallowed
Sicker than after the powder
The sun sank bright orange
Bigger than a penny dropping
Quieter than a bomb
I have neglected everything I am
In pursuit of everything I am not
Curious whispers Alice
I am still here
Soft in your pocket
Waiting
Waiting
Vital as a compact mirror
For when you see yourself
I lie back
Let the paint settle and the pump hum
Wipe the dust from my hands
After the whitewash.
