My anger has cost me
like a dirge of annihilation sweeping
across a coastal town with its multihued
tiny houses, blackwashing them
until beauty sets her sights yonder,
alighting on distant plains, and I’m
~dancing on my own~
hoping one day I’ll fight these demons,
beat them with a song of triumph —
a crescendo of victory, rising and
rising, until at its feverish pitch,
I’m standing, glowing, the past forgiven,
the future, a coda of no regret.
For W3
Ordinary Person 
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