1888.

Can it be any
wonder that people are cruel
with such loneliness?

1887.

Love so often feels
like neglect when memory
is lfet to decay.

1886.

The clouds take on the
characteristics of its
viewer's moodiness.

1885.

Standing on the edge
of choice feels too much like a
lie's sweet seduction.

1884.

A generation
of empty faces and hearts
hides between my bones.

1883.

The conversation
of veins, split and rewound to
the start, is true love.

1882.

The connection of
a soul's grasp reaches across
the ethereal.