935.

The sky a grey pall
that reverberates hopeless
desire to all.

934.

Found in the dull hum
of a world shrouded in ice.
Cold fallen under.

933.

Echoed out in some
tired permutation a
million times over.

932.

Some wonder here that
any of us survived the
onset of patterns.

931.

Shown through the ease of
two hands to both coddle and
break between its palms.

930.

Regurgitation,
persistent for all of its
inherent damage.

929.

A bipolar soul's
dream. Frantic, manic highs and
devastating lows.