Ash Wednesday

You will die.

You will return to sift

Into the thoughtless dirt.

The room is sweating cinnamon and sugar.

I almost wait upon the flood of children,

Laughing waves that don't exist.

The chill is pinching cheeks.

My days have disappointed deeply,

But often shocked with joy.

The years are fast and heavy.

I await yet more,

And I will die.

I've died before,

A few deleted hours,

And I will die again

Forever.

I will burden

No time in mourning

All that time will pocket.

I will burn it bright

And breathe it in

Until I'm disconnected,

Until I simply cease.

No peace.

No thing.

So smear the ashes on my brow.

I'm wash the blurry cross away

Once I fly free.

I know the truth.

I'll store it in the unlit basement.

I will glory the electric lie,

The scent of cinnamon and sugar.

- 3/6/25