This room smells of TCP and goals not achieved and that
Disappointed look on the faces of hope,
Is anyone that hopeful these days?
Abrupt and unwelcomed, this stuffed elephant
On the chest makes lungs burn and throats croak,
The tin plate toys of a childhood forgotten look on, crying rusty tears.
A poster of a fluffy kitten slowly crawls
Its way down the donkey’s breakfast wallpaper,
Leaving greasy round marks where the blue tack once
Held fast to the dreams of being something more than the sum of the parts
We were given.