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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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Monday, July 28, 2008
I TRIED to remember what I wrote this morning
I am suspended motion in a bucket, full of emotion, as the dense insanity finds me hanging, barely there. My arms flail and eyes force open, at every slight commotion. Coco's putty boats sail past my muffled screams without a care. I know nothing of devotion, I've been raised well, by this dead ocean. All I know of is the current running through my lungs and hair. I don't sink but I can't swim -oh, and I'm run by pressure's whim

..but truth be told, these days with you have felt like coming up for air.

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Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I'm an Assumptionista,
This is where I always bolt. The saddest part is that I could've sworn I was just about to let you get to me. Then again, that's always the case, with me -and you, of all people, should know it.

I assume :P

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Monday, July 7, 2008
In excess
All I know how to do in the silence of my own company, nowadays, is purge. This freakish facade is taking its toll on me. Bit by bit, that smile and extra spring in my step -that twinkle and decibel of my voice; is gnawing away at my overly caffeinated insides.

I swear, my heart chambers are pumping coffee beans and sweeteners. My mind is churning 2Am wakeup calls, laugh lines to end all laugh lines, and all the nonesense my body can't take. My battery pack's in overdrive; working more like 5 to 5.

It's all hit hit hit hits happy hits bad hits good hits hirit hits benta hits slow hits senior hits whutts hit you hits bruises from ball hits lets-get-hit.

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