914.

Bring on the drunken
messery you bastards, to
celebrate the same.

913.

Hemmed in by empty
resolutions on paper
instead of just done.

912.

Teetering unsure
feet on the ledge of a change
more ideal than real.

911.

Never, not ever,
says the realist within that
tunes out hope, reaching.

910.

But then when isn't
the lie far more a truth in
the end anymore?

909.

Altogether more
fabricated myth instead
of reality.

908.

Found in a day dressed
up in lights and money, called
some kind of honor.