Welcome
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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Friday, September 28, 2007
Been there
What makes everyone else simply part of the world is that they can't see beyond their own stories. Every piece of information is relative..subject to their past experiences, comparable to their own norms. By the world's standards, the most miniscule things are rightly blown out of proportion. By their standards, a rose holds all the beauty imaginable; a star gives off all the light conceivable; a cut that scars is a pain all too great to bear.

But in this light, a rose is just another plant bound to wither and rot with the rest of the day's garbage, and star is another satellite merely defined by the darkness surrounding it..because, in this light -in this World, we've learned to detach completely from mangled flesh and broken bones.

The point is that nobody else has to understand (:

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