We walk a flustered road.
Intimate, fractured.
Beneath a panicked moon.
The secret swoons…
Damaged arpeggio of memory.
We feast, articulate,
on masochistic vibes and falter
at the conclusion of the meal.
You beg… Stealing thoughtfully…
Portions of disquiet… Broken bread…
And those ticks on every vein…
Wonderfully woeful
and wrenching flowers from their beds.
Vomit stains the space in front.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 