The acrid smoke burns my throat
Polluting my lips,
My tongue,
Leaving behind a trail of bitterness
Down my oesophagus.
I feel the ash rising in my lungs
Hot, acidic, molten;
I draw in breath -
Coughing -
Inhaling -
Exhaling.
Exchanging my thoughts for those poisonous fumes
That dance in my air passage
Each breath feels like a release
As each ash particle falls and forms a clenched fist
Around my black lungs.