"There's no such thing as a painless lesson-they just don't exist. Sacrifices are necessary. You can't gain anything without losing something first. Although if you can endure that pain and walk away from it, you'll find that you now have a heart strong enough to overcome any obstacle. Yeah... a heart made Fullmetal."

You took half of me and I of you
but we'll find each other again somehow

The fire's burning and down, down we go, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. But its a fire I started. Its a fire I like. And not a bad fire, either. Fire always gets the worst reputation, of death, of violence, of an unhappy ending. My fire, though, its a figure entirely different.

Its passion, love, renewal. After all, nothing can grow until the old is gone.

A forest fire has been set upon Wonderland. Grace is anew, Grace is young again, Grace is beautiful. Not particularly in the traditional sense, but in her own sense, in her own light. There is love in her eyes, and its strange, because for once its not only for others.

The fire has swallowed up the Jabberwocky and the Queen of Hearts and all those demons that used to plague Grace, the demons of her past. The past does not define you. I once whispered tick, tock, and how the mouse went dead, but the mouse is not dead, simply grown unto a bird, flying and free.

Grace is still imperfect, her heart is not free of darkness, But she is growing and evolving as human beings do. Funny, its been a long time since she saw her body as a human one. Guess things change with time in Wonderland.

Maybe that's why the White Rabbit always is worried about time. Its a fickle, strange thing,s that runs then stops then screams and never dies, no matter how much you wish it to. Kind of like the Queen, but yet again the fire killed her so who knows what can happen in Wonderland.

Once again Wonderland is Wonderland, at peace and right and dark but always whimsical, always smiling, always Cheshire, even when it wants to frown.

Things are as they should be, with those I love beside me. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. At last she sees.

do i look like a temporary replacement
or is it just written in subtle letters
in the spaces between my eyelids?

tell me if i talk too much.
i remember every word of endearment to be passed through
your lips. are they meaningless?
does "beautiful" slide off the tongue so easy, it has forgotten its own
meaning whenever you speak it?
does the word "amazing" leave a rancid taste in your mouth?
how many other places has it been? i'm sure it left an imprint on
the tongue of your ex lovers.

i'm sorry, i'm not usually so passive aggressive,
but i swear i can feel you leaving me and my insecurities to howl at a lonely moon.

i’m trying to twist my terror into something that can hold me,
a cradle for my baby heart, my suckling soul.
i want my crown, i want my safe place to bleed,
laid out like a snow angel, ****** queen.

my body is a cemetery and i cannot sleep here,
i’m a china doll, the earth cracked my skull.
every sound makes me wail like an infant ghost,
nameless and buried in the morning.

dolores haze, barefoot in the garden,
singing lullabies for my childish grief,
******* in silk ribbons and dripping in pearls,
swallowed by heaven with nothing to keep.

Does the migrating duck truly know
what it is that he wants;
or is he caught up in peer pressure
when he conquers indecision,
and spreads his wings to fly
south?

Is it possible that as he soars,
like Icarus,
that he is accosted by doubt
while the late autumn sun
baptizes him?

And when he finally crashes down,
in some forgotten pond,
warmed by a tropical clime;
that he wonders what might have been,
and is overcome by regret?