breathing in
the smoke, bright and
hot as it seeps
into every pocket
of my soul
only to be sent back
out, into the world
now tainted with
my fear
and hope
perhaps the wind
will bring it to
you, where you might
see it, taste it
and know what to do
know how to touch
me
in the places
I don’t let anyone
see
but doubt fills the
spaces left behind
where my fear
becomes terror
and my hope turns to
wishes
I’m left with nothing
but the smell
of a simpler time
never lived
when the moon
never cried
and the sun
was always
warm