1509.

A disconsolate
little flower always left
to wilting. Poor me.

1508.

An excuse on how
far the lapse has been left just
missing. So pointless.

1507.

I long for you more
than your reality could
ever live up to.

1506.

If only wishing
were enough to make some slight
difference. Hope, falling.

1505.

She pines for things that
she's never had. Dreams are no
solace left unmade.

1504.

If only honor
were more than a feigned word. Where
did we leave meaning?

1503.

Time just keeps passing
as if mimes were fisting the
soul. Empty taunting.