Keep Your Ear To The Stethoscope

You're disaster wrapped in reason,
a thick cotton mess of lackluster love.
A sugar rush. Ephemereal. Nonsensical.
And you want to harvest this thing,
this feeling? These violated strands of
frightened surrender? This darkly glorified
suicidal tic? Let's just call it a lapse,
let's just call it a fuck. People do it all the time.
They ignore the twitching, beating, violent thing
that claims it owns us.