March 27, 2012
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The pictures of her past,
stream before her.
A pixelation of her childhood.
The blank polaroids she has yet to capture,
fill her with remorse.

Scattered photographs
with burned corners
and scratched out faces.

Particles of ash
float in the air,
like lilies in a pond.

She sits in the corner,
staring at the mess.
She caresses her hand, cringing in pain.

They told her not to play with fire.

But she didn’t listen.

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