Snowdrops falling,
          whining of the weight
of reality...

That the good old days...

Are old,
                  retired,


                           dead.

The bygone, lets spell this out in multiple avenues..

ancient, dead, departed, former, lost, antiquated
                                      archaic, belated, dated, defunct
down memory lane, erstwhile, extinct,
                                                      forgotten
­                                            gone, gone by,
in oblivion, late, of old, of yore,
                         old-fashioned, old-time, olden
old fangled, one-time, out-of-date
                                       previous, quondam, vanished,
water over the dam, water under the bridge..

This is a view of a reality that was
                                             winding on to long.

Times are changing, we've  become a people..
      Not a race, a ethnicity..

That's a stigma straight away,
                 what ever continent you were born
           to
A majority a minority.. were labelled to much.

Were one people under the stars, one humanity..
     we all bleed, we all look for a love of another.

Lets just be us, people that don't see labels,
           as we cut them off because the outfit we
now wear isn't in need of a stereotype..

Were just a different fit,
                                         but all the same.

                          Human......

Your connection is unstable
Is how my life should be labeled

Place silhouette pieces or outlines of my heart in thirty or more envelopes.
Paste each one with a new soft paintbrush which clean cream bristles. Push them into torn up fragments of clean new watercolour paper. The sharp edges feel through onto the wooden table leaving mistaken, accidental grooves. Glimmers of sawdust are ****** up into the pockets of your lungs, where they contaminated and will permanently sit.
It was a small heart, the colour of grey sky reflected on seas and carried in bloated raindrops. The texture of diamond. Carved up as easily as wax by a blunt butter knife.
The envelopes are neatly labelled with white tailors chalk powders.