Welcome
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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Friday, March 6, 2009
Watakwa
There's still so much I want to say
but these days, time is slipping away.
With all of these Lasts, and "Thank You, Goodbye"s,
like the silly girl I am, I just break down and cry.

It's all way too sentimental
and I know that I look like a fool,
because though this place made me go MENTAL
with the stress and the work and the rules

for some reason I just can't describe,
how I'll miss every voice, every face.
Forty reasons that go beyond rhymes,
forty people I'll never replace.

So no matter how far you go
-and I know we're all going far;
I pray that you will always know
and remember that, wherever you are:

Forty sentimental people like me
who won't care if they sound just like fools
would love to go Home to good old IV-3
and spend everyday with you :)

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