Poem (11.15.19)

Unfortunately, feeling pointless
prods a bit aggressively.
The rim of the glass, a tad salty,
though manageable.
Cut once through the murmurs,
peel each layer
right to the meat of the situation.
Work out a perfect exit strategy,
disclose to no one.
Another cigarette,
another cup of battery acid.
Slip away, unnoticed.

-r. miller

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