This poem is broken

restlessness spits the wall of death
in hunger & pain.
my body rotates like a disc
surrendered sound of music.
tip toed stigma, a struggle each day
insects sound screeches,
this wooden brain,
or an empty space of lovemaking.
call it anything.
say it names, zig-zag platonic voids
plastic belly button games.
sick voice of head.
call it anything.
a flower holds the world,
its a silhouette speaking of a grave.
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©Mvs