585.

Avarice weighs its
costs against the soul of its
brutal, spent users.

584.

The slow deaths wrought from
selling yourself, inch by inch,
for a small barter.

583.

What envy I have
for the easy judgments of
those who never fought.

582.

A fleeting shadows
determination on life's
Aida cycles.

581.

What freedom can there
be when it requires an
announcement to know?

580.

Of course, the womb was
long lost to fire and dust
by then, time eclipsed.

579.

Unearthed from that womb
twenty-four years too early.
Inside wallflower.