We All Become Dust

• Rachel Stosic, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2019

Every flake of skin that falls off my husk of a body
Is another piece of me
That remembers you.
They fall to the ground where they lie,
Like confetti the day after a parade -
Unwanted and unusable.
Eventually there will be no more of my skin that you have touched,
That you have held,
That you have poisoned.
Eventually there will be no more of me that knows what it was like
To be caressed by a lie so powerful
It believed
Itself.
Eventually I will be free of you.