1818.

A backward dance of
limbs, always breaking. Nothing
left. Stuttered movement.

1817.

My own ennui an
inheritance from the heart
that bore me. Fitting.

1816.

An emotion's slow
surgery. To search out the
disease, pervading.

1815.

Yet another year
passing into the mirror
with wishes heavy.

1814.

Again, today a
cacophony of joy. I
live. So just love me.

1813.

The worlds is made of
caricatures and we just
unfinished designs.

1812.

Bury me with my
puzzles so your version can
be reality.

1811.

We are an enmeshed
riot of memories and
emotion, so linked.

1810.

We are an ocean,
adrift and tumultuous,
seeking some anchor.

1809.

The colored fever
of this fall's storms, resonates
like an anchored bell.

1808.

She dresses herself
in his vision, cloaking skin
with a hungry need.

1807.

A massacre of
expended motion, spent and
forever wanting.

1806.

His eyes, a slow and
well-guarded secret, holding
gentle heart's hostage.

1805.

Hypnotization
in motion. The night a lure
of dreams and shadows.