I’ve never been much farther out 

Than the distant realm

Of the Dirty South.

But I’ve seen movies,

I’ve heard about

The inner peace yet to be found

In the ebony sea,

Beyond the clouds.

So I cut loose the bindings of my consciousness,

To relieve myself of all my earthly promises,

Made in the arms of the only mother I’d ever known.

I drifted into memory, my own.

I gave in to the fantasy, my own.

But before I was ready to banish myself into that bliss,

I had to conquer every part of the person I had been fooled into feeling

I was.

And I wasn’t there yet.

I stumble still.

But in the darkness there, between these contradictory states of being,

I did find the words I needed to identify and assemble;

If what you say is really true,

And my time will count for something here,

Then please let the essence of the child I was,

The child I now strive to betray, and ultimately overcome,

Please let his ghost take hold of my hands,

And conjure forth his own apparition.

Let him spill out. Insanity, hauntings, and lasting torments

Await us in memory, there is nothing to lose and he is not afraid to die.

What monster can do more to us

Than the damage we’ve done on our own,

Chasing stars along the Milky Way,

Colliding with every particle we can, searching desperately for that familiar sting? Truth.

And what a name for it. Toxic comfort.

I feel like I’ve gotten used to getting used. 

 But for what it’s worth, I get mine too.

Because I’m…

I’m still so amused,

By what passes for your definition

 Of universal truth.