The lights of Georgia.


How do you reconcile this?

This pain.

This ever-present, numbing pulse

which beats against the skin of my humanity,

which humiliates my pride.

How do you navigate?

These waters.

Tainted tides of the polluted past

which flood the tissue of my frail lungs.

How do you resist?

This urge.

This aching desire to pound out the misery

trapped within the cracked caverns of this cranium.

How do you not take your fist full of diamonds,

and shove them so far down the well

that the lights go out in Georgia?




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