Ashes

Does the man in the wall see the flames spread as we toss matches into the garbage pail? Let the smoke alarms moan incessantly; we’ll use the squealing pain as gasoline and smirk as the wallpaper shifts to ashes. When we breathe smoke, our lungs shall turn as bitter as fire’s tongue: we will know how chaos tastes.

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1 comment so far

  1. Michelle Johnson on

    vivid images and strong wording. keep up the good work.


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