Fires rage, every possession, every material memory, buried in flames.
Every worry, every joy, every attachment, every thought- will be bruised in a thaw of memory, buried in fresh grass.
So why do we spend our time grinding over the menial things? I want to be liberated from the petty.
Break free from the immature drama- the fucking satire of this old shiva.
I bow to the divinity within me, the soul who lights the match and writes her name in sparkler tails
engulfed by night to feed the stars.
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