I bend down and dip my fingertips into the burning embers.
I swipe my fingers along my high cheekbones smearing a lifetime worth of memories where everyone can see.
Ashes to ashes; I wear them with pride. Dust to dust; no one is to present to hear my battle cries. I am the lone survivor-or--the abandoned one. But no tears shall stream and destroy my war paint. I direct my face toward the sun and allow it to bake these charcoal pigments permanently into my skin.
Yellow houses were never made to be war zones. And the price of freedom was never meant to be held within a box of matches. I can feel the warmth on my back as I walk away. You can follow my soot soaked footprints back to the stagnant clouds of smoke.
The earth can now swallow the remains of toxic soil.
With smudged handprints, we can create new surroundings and with damaged hearts, we can repair ourselves.
The earth can now swallow the remains of toxic soil.
With smudged handprints, we can create new surroundings and with damaged hearts, we can repair ourselves.
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