There’s a case beneath my bed.

There’s a case beneath my bed.


There’s a case of bad memories beneath my bed.

Inside there are:

The songs that remind me of you.

A photograph of my dog before he died.

That hospital letter.

The cinema receipt.

Our trip to London.

Why I won’t ride the train.

The smell of onions.

The first time you hit me.

The last time you hit me.

When I couldn’t stay.

Breaking my wrist.

Watching you go.

The taste of bleach.

A foot with three toes.

Being scared to eat.

It’s brown and is sealed down with two thick leather straps, a heavy buckle and a heavy duty chain, with a padlock.


© G.P Williamson 2017