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written by: A. Peetz



Fire bared my facade.
Fueled by conceit,
overgrown and untamed.
Propelled by gusts
of self-loathing
through canyons
cutting my subconscious.

From a blood sky
embers rained and
singed the lids
that shielded my eyes.
With no power
to contain it,
arrogance ignited,
vanity burned,
desolation seared.

When the storm cleared,
fear replaced flame
that consumed the calm.
Now I'm hostage
to the stench
of smudged rage.

I breathe deep
a haze
that dazes
and disorients.
Sweep the walk
to the ruins
of my sanctuary
while ash marks
the altar honoring
my former existence.

Reality is devastation
measured in degrees;
penetrating burns
that will become
puckered scars.
Raw, red reminders that
I can't salvage normal,
can’t resurrect the past,
can’t confront
what remains.

A. Peetz

A. Peetz

A. Peetz is a little bit of everything and a whole lot of nothing: a curious intellectual, a hyper delinquent, an impatient teacher, a student of Buddhism, a fanatical minimalist, a consummate opportunist, a music addict, and a sober realist. Her punk poetry has been published and performed. She also writes incendiary stories in the wildfire-scorched hills outside of Los Angeles, CA.
A. Peetz

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