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Array
(
[sid] => 172369
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Desire Of Death
[time] => 2012-05-05 12:37:21
[hometext] => Hard to explain.
[bodytext] => If I advocate the benefits of dying, do I get a medal? Here I am: laughing and lying, waiting for the devil. They call me completely alone, ‘they’ being me. How happy, to be neatly unknown, unable to cater for society. Why must I hate you so? ‘You’ being me. My conscience is pure as snow, so very unclean. In a perfect world it’s gone. ‘It’ being me. Life is painfully long, and death so enticing. If I practise the art of dying, may I make a medal? Put it on my grave as you’re leaving my funeral: fit for a devil. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 155 [topic] => 13 [informant] => me1234 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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