She's planting out her window box
Young shoots are showing through
She thinks about the Springtime
And the garden she once knew

There were primroses and daffodils
Sweet violets white and blue
She thinks about her husband
And when their love was new

Buds and blooms open up
They scent and colour Summer long
She thinks about those happy days
When they were young and strong

Sunset's falling sooner now
Petals drop, the show is done
She gathers up her Winter shawl
Prepares for what’s to come

words are hollow
empty vessels sailing
a heartless sea

sun is
merciless
never stops
radiating

when the
words
run out
will we
understand

no more code
no more guise
shapeless truth
cold harsh beauty
hidden in salt

It's easy to say
that the other's to
blame

when the sand and
the sea play the
push and pull game

and it's hard to get
dry in this grey, coastal
rain

wet wood
on the coast
won't light up into
flame

So I sit by the embers,
glowing in shame

and take a stick to
embed the sand with
your name

- the month that you died,
I wasn't the same

I've never been sure
I was meant to be tame.

Depression isn't what you think.
It's not slicing wrists and crying.
Not for everyone.
Sometimes it's just a heavy blanket.
You get your work done.
Mostly, anyway.
But you don't leave your room.
You don't leave your bed.
You tell your boyfriend you're going to bed early, but you sit awake for hours.
You get a watermelon from the kitchen and eat it in bed with a spoon.
Lights off, juice dripping down your face.
Watermelon used to taste good.
Sleep used to be easy.