1881.

I want to roll my
body amongst the veins of
your bloody, gored heart.

1880.

He keeps mouthing all
the promises I cannot
afford to believe.

1879.

The illusion of
happiness, such a hopeless
narcotic, teasing.

1878.

Divergent choices
lead the heart toward bloodbaths
or sweet nirvana.

1877.

The expanse between
sleep and surreality slides
inside to haunt me.

1876.

I am enthralled by
what nature is offering
up for consumption.

1875.

The sky and sea, such
paired, sad overtures of the
finite ground between.