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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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Saturday, January 12, 2008
"NATT!"
You've got to wipe that silly blush off your face..let's not be too obvious, now. Why can't you seem to remember that one little resolution? -right, right, because this one's different (just like all the others were, at first)

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