Saints of Persumption.

They found her clenching her feet in the hole she dug with her bare hands.

Nothing is sweeter than a fresh clean grasp for oxygen.
Like air freshener, she spritzed the room with her pleasant smile and kind thank yous.
Eyes wide as the hold she had banned herself to, her rescuers gawked at her sight.
Worn clothes, drooping eyelids, her fingers broken at the joints.
The damsel couldn’t figure out why they stood still as a criminal caught in bright lights.

How could her saviors be horrified by a girl they knew had gone to Earth’s core and melted slowly on the way back?
She saw she’d always be judged by the ones she saw as pure gold.
They’d only be as dirty as iron ore cluttered underneath thick rock.
Maybe if they dug a hole as deep as fingernails could bear.

The saints of presumption would be mined out of the dark caves and sent to angel’s graves.