Manic

Standard

Such useless fits of rapture
                      To which I am prone
Such hollow hysterics
                  And frivolous amazement
                                       You’d think that the
           Colors of the world
                            Mean absolutely nothing
            The way I thrust myself
                           Into them
                                 Four nonconsecutive weeks
                  Out of the year
My heart is a wrecking ball
                                      And it’s a heavy thing
                         Sometimes to be carrying around
        So what I’ll do
                                           Is I’ll intentionally forget it
           And fill the unoccupied space
                          With little bits of verse
                                That don’t inspire me
                                                                      In the least
           And images of gone beauties
                                   That I’ll never ever ever
              Work up the nerve to talk to
                                                  No matter how much
                                                                                      I drink
                                           But hey
                    Anything is better
                                       Than a void, right?
               Which I guess says a lot
                                               About my personality –

-r. miller

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