Swirling patterns of white smoke still hang and reside as stubborn as a cobweb.
Swimming and floating atop the waters of my soul.
No embers remain of the fire once held there, so brilliant and magical.
It was put out messily.

Scorching everything that was, to a damp smoky haze of uncertainty.
Fear feeds the smoke, unaware of the time since passed.
A light, all colours of my spectrum and of those that guide and heal me, begins to shine.

The ***** smog rises in the heat of this light and warmth as guiding breaths banish some smoke entirely to the Earth once more.
With such clearance my soul begins to bloom to the once beautiful flower it was.

I cannot yet fully see it, still smoke-blind but I know it's there and with purpose.
I feel nothing for the ashes at my bare feet, watching them spin and break in the breeze.
All but a hard lesson, now emotionless yet once such pain.

I don't need it, I need me.
And with that acknowledgement I begin to see.