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A slow breaking and mending
of blood and bone
fit for the poorest
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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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Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Tomato soup sabaw!
Sleepy-eyed and full of sighs, I'll shuffle my way back into your brain at the most ungodly hours. Yes, I'm trying to make this hard. Sans that clueless little looking-glass, I'll know right where we're at, this time. So when the breeze carries a whiff of me, yes sweetie, it's me. And when the light hits everything just right, yes, I -and only I; just wanted you to see every ounce of what could be.

It's my very first priority to make everything a little brighter: to show you how blue the sky is and how perfectly the world turns when you feel like spinning. I'm out to show you just how perfectly the world turns on my axis, when I know that I've got you spinning.

This is the way that my words dart across another empty space..and another, and another again until I overlay some sort of rhythm in my head (but only in my head, until the schizophrenia sinks in). Oh and when the songs make you turn and redden at those little cheeks, yes, I -and only I; must've wanted you to hum along coz I -and only I; know those kinds of songs.

I know I should be keeping myself from writing all this gibberish, because there are no faces to accompany these sickeningly strange ideals. But maybe, maybe..please. Fireworks and a little originality, please. It's about time. Amen.

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