May Cause Drowsiness

A temptress on the counter
offers revival, cream
spheres to pulverize
decades of layered
nothingness; pharmaceutical
soldiers trained in
chemical warfare. Wave
your white flag, surrender
ego, dissent, and instinct;
manipulate your anarchy.

Become glass candy with
saccharine blood, feed
on faux pastels, slurp
manufactured serenity.

Clouds gut coffins, orchids
brutalize nightfall, knives
melt into pools of silver
caramel.

Rise from your sofa and
swallow the con, douse
your dysfunction, stroll down
artificial avenues, smile like
plastic gnomes. Accept your
rebirth: embrace the pale machine.

Chris Milam lives in Hamilton, Ohio. He’s a voracious reader, a baseball junkie, and a connoisseur of solitude. His stories have appeared in Maudlin House, Firewords Quarterly, Molotov Cocktail, and elsewhere. You can find him on Twitter @Blukris.