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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, April 29, 2008
This is me
..trying to work out the way your skin should know me, to come to terms with what this feels like. I know for sure just what it seems like, but I'm telling you now, if I were true, I'd stay a million miles away from you.

It's not even just about that mess..it's a whole mess of messes up in one nest. And I'm sorry in advance; I'm not quite sure of what I'm doing all this for and I can't see where I'll end up, anymore.

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