Six : Spoken word poetry

Sleeping ashes

I watch my ashes fly away sometimes

You'd think with the amount of times that I die I have lived at least once

It doesn't really seem to work like that.

I think killing my tumultuous emotions would liberate me;

Somehow believing becoming an empty void counts as freedom

It doesn't.

I crave renewal so I find some way to die

Dead people are the ones who get resuscitated right

Not this heart

No matter how many times it dies, somehow it doesn't wake up any better.

This is my entry for the February has heart wattpad poetry contest