...

Hold them, precious...

Treasure them...

Their lives are precious...

Remember them...

I.K. Estbon

...

I sing to candy-coloured picture frames, oh deep purple don't associate so closely with that shocking violet, perched in its corner touching all the salmon, and here's a thought for you yellows and blues, mixing the sombre with the sunny is quaintly confusing, can your pretty hues be separated yet retain their endearment to me?

I.K. Estbon

...

Body smashed, chest collapsed, piss and snot and thoughts fucked in head,
and guilt collects the mental toll, trampled soul over frustrated tears.

Becoming unwound, unsung, unstable, reflected on what we have said,
we feel incapable, insatiable desire to gather another pocket full of fears.

I.K. Estbon

...

Here I lie with some sort of perceived wound that I shall tend to meticulously and tirelessly, my palm outstretched, my tongue licking it again and again.

I.K. Estbon