1727.

A miasma of
negative confluence that
just wears and then drowns.

1726.

This life has to have
some kind of restart, maybe
just blind erasure.

1725.

Your love treads softly
but still scars for all of its
worn expectation.

1724.

Even anchors grow
weary as rust pries at their
exoskeleton.

1723.

All these hearts just worn
down to tissue. A constant
cycle of tearing.

1722.

The ego only
sees itself in every
view. So myopic.

1721.

Smoke and mirrors as
even new players wear the
same heart underneath.