The Ashes Are Everywhere Poem by Kayla Townshend

You are driving down the freeway
picture perfect, almost,
if not for the little things
the burning cigarette in the
ashtray, filled to the brim and
sending ash spiraling
out into the window, your hair,
into your mouth. The blood on
the seat. You left him spread out
on the marble floor, a sacrifice
to some unnamed god of your own
creation, and he is gone but you
wear his sunglasses, his scars,
smoke his cigarettes and let his
ashes caress you on the freeway,
on the way to another country, maybe,
or maybe just another boy to
spend the time with.