Ashes

I breath in the ashes of the living,
Created by a wildfire with which will not end.
It is through fear and poverty, of what is yet to come and what is not known, that the remnants of what was started, continues on.
My lungs sting and my eyes water, but nothing changes as the years shift hazily by. Sometimes I feel as though I'm the only one who reacts to such effects, as if those around me filter it out and are left ignorant to the debris.
The heat burns my flesh as thick, black clouds of of smoke cover what was left of the sky I had attempted to reach, as well as the ground that barely held my feet.
I am blinded.
Unable to see.
Unable to hear anything but the rampant screams of the silenced and the deceased.
The living has taken its toll on me.
And now I mourn with the dead.