1397.

A thousand nettles
crawling along these ribs to
turn inward, stabbing.

1396.

We are all hoarders
when it comes to the secrets
in our histories.

1395.

A door held closed by
the heart's rusted hinges. Just
left to a creaking.

1394.

Words upended in
the search for solace. Far and
wide, voices crying.

1393.

Images invert
and collapse in this mirror.
Illusions and lies.

1392.

An institution
of apologies in flesh.
Always left sinking.

1391.

I hide from myself.
Pretend these cobbled nerves knew
some difference of light.