through charm-bracelet songs,

find the land of the torn,

the beings of darkness,

lost, love-lorn.

find defiance, lost faith,

tear through in mad haste.

love the gypsy-carried child,

and watch starlight go waste…

Perhaps this too, is real.

Maybe it is hard to believe

That these cold, foggy mornings

Of self-doubt and fear,

Really exist.

Maybe it is hard to hold on

To slippery hands

With slippery hands.

Mute voices of silence surround

Your screaming deaf echoes

And your mind whirls.

You cannot escape from

The web of deceit

That left you frozen

And still,

Like dewfall, lost

On a stormy night.

Perhaps, this shall never pass;

Maybe because this too, is real.

Moving

I have gone back to the packing up and moving. It's just as bad, because I didn't really want to move. To make up for it is the fact that the new place seems very nice and the new roommate, very nice too. Let's see how that works out. I'm looking forward to not ever having to live alone again (provided the one I live with is fun). Sigh... my room is a mess, I have wayyyy too much stuff than I should. What to do... such is life.