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Array
(
[sid] => 125527
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Misery & Joy
[time] => 2006-09-09 15:05:02
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Broken Glass, Pretty. Glistening. Cold, Scratchy fragments in my wrists. Hemlock elixer, Sweet poison to my soul... One more swallow ought to do. Bed of Nails, Could it get anymore comforting? Sharpened stake, To cure my heart of this disease. Crucifix?! What the hell? I don't believe! Bloody knife in my hand, I thought I ditched it when last I used it? Coffin of mine, Awwww, my lovely bed of solace...where I dwell for eternity. Memories of how I spent my life, recieving pain and torture ~Rhiannon [comments] => 2 [counter] => 173 [topic] => 59 [informant] => Uncertain_Oblivion [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => psychoticpoems )
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