You are 15. You walk with your heart
in front of you. Everything that will ever hurt you
already exists in unopened boxes.
The air is thin and you think you can swim
in it as you reach a hand up to take
an apple out of a cloud and sing
the first words that get sent to your mouth.
There is no need for oxygen when you are made
out of wet look hair gel and Mars Bars.
Don’t think about tomorrow,
it is not real, it is a rumour invented by people
desperate to make you believe
there is a point to all of this.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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