298.

The instinctual
draw of our bodies pull the
string on an often

played echo. Open
mind, insert marionette.
Circle jerks commence.

297.

I want to roll my
body amongst the veins of
your bloody, gored heart.

296.

The contraction of
vowels, rounded and apart,
splits between our sound.

295.

How did I manage
to get past so much and still
be so fucking scared?

294.

The grasp of that mouth
pulling upon me seems like
the only time seen.

293.

What is the point of
survival when the living
is so clearly done.

292.

This compass always
points the wrong way when I most
need it to lead me.