A song lies in the shadow on the wall,
Cast by an unused guitar,
Beneath its tiring strings,
A hoodie tossed aside,
A story of rebellion lies within,
Those man-made fibres,
Dyed black as the hair I wish I had,
And resting on the sleeve,
Forgotten,
Glasses,
That let me see clearly,
And now all is a blur,
But the poem I write,
To remember and cope,
Another night,
Another day.