2035.

These late nights are full
of yearning and restlessness.
An escaped solace.

2034.

We are all hoarders
when it comes to the secrets
in our histories.

2033.

If only our shared
loneliness could create a
person to fill it.

2032.

My ribs are filled with
empty rooms that just reverb
back this heart's echoes.

2031.

Finger paints mar the
cusp of beauty in divine
parts ineptitude.

2030.

Such analogous
splendor in the balance. All
sides remain offset.

2029.

What purpose does a
heart unkept have other than
just a slow beating?