Young blood tongue tied
and tired, you relinquish
the wired dawn to a sequence
of distress. As the avenue
fills with squalor, a myriad
childhoods stumble forth
from creepy recesses in the glowing
gullet of the town to spit up
all over themselves
and meet their great reward.
Not the best environment
for introspection,
nor for counting sheep.
Cool rain bites deep,
drenching your every tissue
until your body, waterlogged,
becomes too burdensome to wear,
but how absorbing is the weight!
Enamored by your new heaviness,
you recline tenderly
upon a bed of headaches
and fractured sunlight
drifting soundlessly
into an unbroken aimless sleep.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 