872.

But then isn't all
of life a neverending
continuation?

871.

The circuitious
nature of it all. Such a
tedious cycle.

870.

Mired down in a
pattern that breeds redundant.
Give and take, stasis.

869.

Sometimes I wonder
why any of us really
keep on bothering.

868.

Swept under the slow
progress of constancy in
love's tired journey.

867.

A corrosion of
the heart's lining, trickling out.
Just blood and air left.

866.

No matter how the
cover is dressed, the inside
always still leaking.