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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 15:31:05 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 104222
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => cave time
[time] => 2005-08-23 07:25:40
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Mincing my words to paint a pain diluted stops right here. My inner man fell long ago beneath the essex smile. Who loves to place me on the bench, while sloths have match-time. The hope that used to be my middle name, has now been stamped upon the wrench i see upon my path. So go please call a surgeon bud, this is not sweat but blood. These mind games are to blame for times i danced alone with shame. How can one girl kiss and tell, and leave a young man's heart unwell, as she holds hands with Mordor's men, again. Never trust a western smile, but run a mile. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 194 [topic] => 14 [informant] => caleb [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 8 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DreamsandWishes )
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