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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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Tuesday, March 18, 2008
I try and I try and I try
Entire systems in me are constantly struggling, pulling, tugging at my resolve. My ever-changing resolve. You could shake me off, if you wanted to. This craving -insatiable, hormonal (completely devoid of whatever decency I've been left with); will be curbed..not satisfied, just silenced. No rules, no games..head-first, heart-first, no fucking around.

This is me, being restless, because I haven't caught sight of you in days. You are what five hours under the sun -pulling my joints, catching my breath, bruising my knees, burning my skin; can't peel off my incoherent thoughts. I am the lack of subtlety that'll rock your naivety once around the block and back.

Knowing that you wouldn't be there to miss, tonight, made it that much easier to stay in.

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