8.1.18

I’ve really stepped in it this time.
The same cold mouths
issue the same cold lines
about repentance.
Syringes are duly divested
of their serums and I hate to say it,
but it looks like rain.
How much pain do you have to endure
before you can call this “Life?”
I’ve turned over
far too many new leaves.
What I want is a little romance,
but without the frills.
The fast approaching wave
possesses a magnitude
I’m not sure I can withstand.
I’ll be just fine, I tell myself, just fine.
Once I’ve handed in my two-weeks’ notice.

-r. miller

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