Mortality, amongst other things by Olivia Burgess (17, United Kingdom)

When I die, 
I will be dust caught in the burning mass of engines 
or dances with skin matter in fading daylight 
I will be cliche autumn leaves clumping in brown mass 

---

and ghosts inheriting polaroids because there’s always a ghost 
in the film and I will be stained books with one line pencilled 
for a friend or a lover I will be pigment scars in a palette 
I will be one half of a dropped earring like breaking twins or
a trapped wing in a window frame she is nature’s lost property 
I will be making something, something of nothing pearl tears at a funeral 
faint suckling of yew trees paws glazed with dirt 
I will be yapping at orange skies and half chewed grass I will be 
laced cutlery ceiling steam stains 
I will be tangible just in reach out of sight keep in mind 
I will be maybe next time and see you later I will be looking forward 
suckling tossed air  
I will be hands hovering over a laptop keyboard, 
waiting to start