Really, I could be
more interesting if I tried.
And more interested,
but that’s a problem
for another week.
I don’t speak so coherently lately,
that’s for you to decide,
and the color red
gives me the shakes.
Now discerning the aroma
of fried brains in the hall…
A scraping coming from the wall…
How shall I get on
with things anymore?
A newer, sinister mood
is coming up with the sun,
casting a heavy cloth
over my watery eyes.

-r. miller

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