578.

I imagine some-
times that drugs were my murmured
and slow heart's cocoon.

577.

Closing in on ten
years of sobriety, with
a heavy world on.

576.

A staggered result
of love's exploration, cast
in the key of fuck.

575.

Time cycles ever
on in the slowest escape
from life's albatross.

574.

Ten years since our eyes
carefully did not meet in
that desolate room.

573.

His "love" an anchor,
given only to make sure
I could never leave.

572.

Time passes in such
surrealistic splendor,
warping memory.