INK AND ASH · Fentynal Families

2d • Poetry

INK AND ASH

I wake in the wreckage of yesterdays,

my body a ledger of broken promises.

The mirror tells two truths—

the ghost I was, and the woman still painting herself back in.Syringes of sunlight pierce the blinds,

the light hurts, but I let it—

a small mercy that burns cleaner than the flame I once chased.In the ache, I find rhythm.

In the ruin, I find rhyme.

Every brushstroke bleeds confession,

every lyric claws toward air.They called me lost; I call myself becoming.

The canvas doesn’t flinch when I tremble.

It takes the shaking hand,

turns it into something holy, scarred, and alive.Survival isn’t soft; it’s a howl made human.

Art is the only pulse I can trust—

beating fierce,

a reminder that I am still here.

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Fentanyl is a fatal drug. I'm a recovering addict who still relapses and I feel a community can help me and hopefully another stay sober and alive.

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