the miserable life of a miserable teenager

The messy powder that litters the places that were once clean.

I am cluttered ash.

The dust that was once a solid, valuable coping mechanism.

I am black ash.

The mess that used to be my beautiful lifeline.

Missing when I wasn’t ash, when I was a sprouted plant.

Sure, I was screaming at you to pick me and sell me.

But dammit, put me back together. Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

Except you can’t.

Because all that’s left of my beaming smile, is black ash.