Mumble

I’d been mumbling pretty bad
in the wake of the terrifying
nightmares. They were decorated
like a haunted house about the
past. The floors would tilt
left and right with bad timing
making the liquid surrounding
your brain start to foam like
a glass on a carved up bar.
In fact, that bar was so carved
up, the names and dates of old
regulars were now lost among
the strolls of drunken bikers,
too tired to think of anything,
but too hammered to go home.
She automatically knows the words
to say to me, and I know that I’m
not alone, out here with all the; fires,
diseases, and monotonous work cycles.
They always warned that thinking too
much could clog your arteries, but
that’s a hard case to prove, considering
everyone likes to chow down
at least once in a while.

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