Where I sleep has gradually
been subsumed in surly dreams.
Time now to vacuum up the dust
and lust that enhance my surface layer.
Time now to rally the disparate tones
into a coherent melody.
I need space and time to despise myself
without fear of retribution.
I arrived at this conclusion necessarily
by way of an unbroken chain of disillusion.
It played out less chaotically than I’d hoped,
but I’ve coped with worse.
You can hear it in my garish laughter.
You can feel it in my rusted gaze.

-r. miller

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