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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 16:50:21 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 108042
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Hollow
[time] => 2005-10-18 23:19:21
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Call it a tragedy, I call this a travesty. She took my hand as she led me to a place where anti-utopian angels hold on for dear life, as the wind grasps their sallow bodies, hands cut on ribcages, attempting to carry them away. Do they want to get out? They don't want to get out. Holding onto emptiness that fuels them all, I watch as an angel lets go, tumbles, and falls. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 163 [topic] => 72 [informant] => jogaxchild [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => self-harmpoetry )
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