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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 15:22:47 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 20806
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Immaginary
[time] => 2003-07-22 21:45:00
[hometext] => Please leave comments.
[bodytext] => I sit alone, in my field of paper flowers, where the sky is pink, and the grass is blue. This is what I have to do, to escape, to be free. My dress is made from the salty tears that have fallen from my face. The clouds are ice cream, the trees are chocolate. I only escape in my dreams, or when I sleep. I escape the yelling, the screaming, the hostility. Only in my Immaginary world, everything is perfect. I run with my stallion, to the river made of sweet maple syrup. Nothing here is painful, nothing is wrong, its all to perfect. Thats why its only Immaginary. Not real. Its where I drift away. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 152 [topic] => 40 [informant] => Desi [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => fantasy )
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