In this grimy gaol,
Where hopes ran dry,
And forlorn souls rest not,
Roaches dance into the dark
In tune with my tattling bones
As I cuddle the cold,
On this concrete floor
My blistered back,
Lain in gore,
Is on fire.
But what isn't?
My hands are sore,
And my legs are numb.
But my soul is whole.
Darkened and dimmed,
But alive nonetheless.
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