This drawer a mouth that swallows

This drawer, a mouth that swallows

small, broken bits of life.

I dig for a pen that follows

my hand, escaping all the strife

of empty tubes and hollows.

Three Sharpies, dried out, dead,

their felt tips stiff as old wire.

A single earring, lost its mate, it's said

to bring bad luck, a small sad pyre.

And this key, no idea what it's for, instead.

A button from a coat I gave away,

a tiny screw, a broken clip.

It's where the small forgotten things stay,

a graveyard for the useless, slip

into oblivion, day by day.

No order here, just jumbled truth,

the bits and bobs of a life undone.

A silent witness to my youth

and all the little battles won

and lost, without any proof.