the smell of smoke is embedded in my fingerprints,
each grove, swirl and whorl contains a fragment of fire.
i tried to burn so much more than twigs and paper.
i hoped to rid myself of the regrets, fears, and
words i do not have the courage to say
by dousing every pen soaked sheet with a
dose of fire, gently placing the page on an ember.
first heat, then brown seeps across the white
and flames create glowering ashes.
but i do not feel resolved.
because matter cannot be created
or destroyed.
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