1776.

Weary concepts for
exhausted bones. Always pushed
to keep moving. Stop.

1775.

How odd that after birth,
our entire life is spent
just running from death.

1774.

Impasses just mask
crossroads that sit with a wolf
on each side, waiting.

1773.

This hearts wants to live
the type of dream that the head
no longer believes.

1772.

This anchor in my chest
stays a steady hunger. So
ravenous in need.

1771.

The idea of a
forever is only built
for atoms, not skin.

1770.

A circle of hope
and light cast into gentle,
deceptive splendor.