Array
(
[sid] => 185140
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Turmoil
[time] => 2018-05-20 21:22:11
[hometext] => To have a choice to make and not know if it/'/s proper... it/'/s a rather painful thing.
[bodytext] => A thousand days ago we met
In a school back home
We parted ways and thought
Of each other for some more
A hundred days ago we met
By chance and made a pair our own
A dozen days ago I held her
In my arms at night
Today I push her back and still
I love her all the same
Yet even still I scorn her
And refuse to speak her name
She is not who she claims to be
But she cannot see
I would choose to chastise her
Be the slayer of her dreams
My choice and its weight ail me
The woe to not know their means
In a dozen days I/'/ll leave her
In seven more I/'/ll /'/ve forgot her
Thus I learn a lesson wrapped in grief
Love is oft/'/ macabre
[comments] => 3
[counter] => 126
[topic] => 21
[informant] => xHeathenx
[notes] =>
[ihome] => 0
[alanguage] => english
[acomm] => 0
[haspoll] => 0
[pollID] => 0
[score] => 0
[ratings] => 0
[editpoem] => 1
[associated] =>
[topicname] => Lifepoems
)
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