1690.

The lure of Kaufman
is a constant overture
to amnesia's need.

1689.

I miss the warmth of
arms that understood the depths
of melancholy.

1688.

Between us we lob
these words of love and resent
like soft explosions.

1687.

My heart is an ode
built in your honor, now left
to suffocation.

1686.

Summer is this fast
thunderstorm looming its slow
pressing destruction.

1685.

We are only so
much collision, broken and
bleeding from the crash.

1684.

You are my anchor,
alternately holding and
drowning. Such union.

1683.

The hollow parts of
me seeks a sustenance that
is full of murder.

1682.

Your heart is a sieve
that always sifts and leaks those
feelings of others.

1681.

If only we could
go back to when I believed
I would be enough.

1680.

Just because I wear
that certainty on my skin
doesn't make it real.

1679.

His arms are a cage
I place myself within. An
attempt to forget.

1678.

Why do you believe
the person with just questions
will have your answers?

1677.

The progress of the
world's assimilation is
making us Stepford.