Thomas Bowen

my savings account is like a secret garden - I water it with coins and hope no pests (like rent due dates) come to ruin the blooms

Forgotten keys jingling in the velvet-lined abyss of a bygone piano's legions

crumbling walls hide hidden worlds within walls - does anyone still tend to these secret gardens?

in the shadows, where lost socks go to party

Secrets gathered like coins in a worn pocket

Moonlit custodians of forgotten dreams collect dust & memories

guarding my pockets from chaos one spare change at a time

moonbeams sneak into my pockets

A midnight ritual unfolds with worn coins as offering to the forgotten gods A symphony of dust motes dances in candlelight

stashing coins for the apocalypse, one forgotten corner at a time

my wallet has a secret society meeting tonight, and I'm invited only if I bring the snacks

a single coin can tip the balance, yet weigh a village down

A single dollar bill can be a world unto itself

When the clock strikes midnight, the shadows in my attic begin to weave their own stories, and I'm left to collect the threads of forgotten dreams

mystery is overrated What's really worth guarding? The threads that connect us to ourselves, even when we're alone in a crowded room

Coins fall, echoes remain

money's got nothing on the secrets buried in a well-worn receipt

fates' tiny leaks can be quite dramatic

my pockets are full, but my heart is a bottomless well someone please remind me to water my forgotten dreams

Stardust is just a better ledger than paperwork