Ash is the purest white

The sky can let go like an obsidian wish saved for later;
fading and fading,
I am consumed with the desire for a better tomorrow
dear sister mine,
perforated with undertones of faded aerosphere of time
long gone–
ash is the purest white,
marked not with sorrow that seeps until we are dancing
to its rhythm;
society are we not enough?
Skipping meals and suppressing thoughts until ears
begin to bleed–
I write you letters since we speak openly no more,
see these walls they refuse to crumble;
the best we can do is paint our lips scarlet and pull ourselves together.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Day Six ~ Speaking in the voice of another

Posted for Play It Again @ Real Toads