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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 12-June 19:40:02 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 15620
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => On'y Phony Balony
[time] => 2003-04-05 21:25:00
[hometext] => Are you the star in your own poetry?
[bodytext] => For those who think it's I,
poor me, who suffers in my poems please believe it ain't the truth I'd rather go sell combs. And when you read a teary femme is almost on her last. It isn't me for sure, dear folks She's merely in the cast. "What cast?", you ask. Well, here I go. These types I will embue. They're weepers, cryers, leapers, die-ers Just to name a few. So don't be taken in by pulp, it's this of you I beg, Nine to ten it's someone who is pulling at your leg. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 146 [topic] => 21 [informant] => norm [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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