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A slow breaking and mending
of blood and bone
fit for the poorest
of ivory souls.
Pour tomber, pour courir,
pour mourir; no less!

Mademoiselle
No one, to you,
do tell.
A dream,
perhaps a nightmare,
that died in your arms
much too long ago.


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Monday, June 4, 2007
Couldn't crack the love code, dear
Look around, there's so much to soak in..so much to drop smiles, at; so much to whistle an old showtune, to -not that I whistle showtunes, I tend to stick to those songs you'll listen to on your friend's iPod if you ever have to discover the joys of hiding in her closet (:

Where's a better place to renew than right back where you left off..right where you broke and peeled those old pieces off of you.

I can't die with you in my head and someone else in your arms *whistle whistle*

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