Melancholy by Fatma AlSumaiti

Darkness pokes at my every corner.
The silence around me has never been more alive.
Is it possible to grow up 10 years within a day?
Is it possible for this pain to stop eating at my soul?
Denial used to be my strongest weapon.
I am stronger than ever. I am broken down to ash.
The cigarette between my fingers brighter than ever.
Burning.
Smoke rising, dancing, swirling.
As if to juxtapose the reality of my being.
Gray.
Falling, stagnant, atrophying.
Ashes.

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