Bereft of all your comforts
You’ve caviled every last ember
Ardent enough to survive.
Every burden bound to your bosom
Diffuses throughout the sky
Muddled with ash and mist.
You aren’t who you thought you would be.
Convoluted with the other.
It’s lonely here, only
Cracks and their companions.
I’m exposed out here, exposing the
Crumbled path crusted to my bare feet.
There are no answers here,
Just ghosts of lost love.
Touched by sickness, swaddled in despair
Kissed by broken covenants, wrapped in bondage
Stained by magnetism, veiled in deleterious desire
Punctured by kin, seeping in darkness
Lifted by scarcity, dragged by deceit
Punished by my boon, tied to immunity
Perceived as perfection, sheathed in avenge.
You’ve planted seeds
Not designed for your soil.
Walked among trees
Not meant for your forest.
May the clarity of these burnt offerings
May the fragility of timber
(Once erect and unfruitful,
Budding and immovable)
May it coat your skin (these ashes) with
An analgesic stain.
Reminding you that you’ve never been
The sum total of pain
imposed on you.
This alter belongs to you,
that story doesn’t.
Gather your chalked past
Black and eager to scatter.
Breathe in the smoke,
Suffocate the traces of pain your tempted to rekindle.
Dip your pin
End the cycle.
Miss Parisia B.