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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 14:40:29 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 3671
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => ''Weed''
[time] => 2002-09-11 09:55:57
[hometext] => About an internet love, that can never be, because of one's addiction for drugs...
[bodytext] => You asked me to stand by you through thick and thin.
I fought the game, even though I knew I couldn't win. I stood by and listened, while you did what you had to do. You said that it was harmless, but it was too good to be true. Over ICQ I would ask you if you were ok, and this was your reply, "Oh yeah, I am doing great. I just finished getting high." A simple drug that you would inhale, and then exhale in sync. You would blow the smoke in my yearning face, pushed up to the brink. You said that I was hypocritical, because I went through the phase. But I learned my lesson well, when life became my maze. Yes, I never said I was perfect, and it was once my muse. But, my reason for being there, was my reason to stay confused. I am not there with you, and don't know how to handle your conditions. Every picture you send to me, shows you in that same position. No one pushes you to do it. You laugh about it all the same. I know that your addiction, is your way of playing a game. I remember when you were different. Our conversations were real. But you found something that could make me feel like less of a big deal. Roll it up a little more, and place it to your lips, and I would then have to listen, to your immature quips. I remember who you were, and now talk to the b***ard you have become, all because a simple thing, scorches your once loving tongue. You used to say "I love you," and I would smile to myself in glee. Now those words became less worded, and lost intensity. With all your time spent high, I don't know what to believe. I cry so many times, for these tangled webs we weave. I type to you the words, that come from my heart of broken glass. And most of the time we end in angry words and a storm forecast. I know I want to be with you, and again I want my heart to bleed. But our meeting date will never come, because you gave your life to "weed." [comments] => 2 [counter] => 163 [topic] => 43 [informant] => Jazz [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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