767.

An army of slow
perception. Judgments accrued
for absent honor.

766.

I hang myself out
on limbs for mere hopes of what
the yous might yet think.

765.

Recognized by the
taunt's outline in a mirror
peripherally.

764.

A haunting refrain
that wields a cruel suffering
in its amnesia.

763.

Games of memory
and forgetting, suffused yet
inside all the lies.

762.

The litany of
my history washes up
against my senses.

761.

An impulse toward
distrust, rooted deep from the
very beginning.