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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 20:57:43 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 42047
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Miasma
[time] => 2004-04-06 17:28:01
[hometext] => Just a little poem about right and wrong. Who knows what they know. We only do what were told.
[bodytext] => The sun hangs from a dark sky. I was told to reconsider. Your words rushing through. This fuse which burnt out long ago. You held me tight. You told me what and what not to do. Would this be injustice, To really do something I long for. Blood flows out of my eyes. These crimson tears sweep down my face. I leave my ghost to haunt you. Every face you see will be mine. Every word you speak will be of me. Ludacris as this sounds, Im dead. What a beautiful death I held. This plasma slips through me. Running past my soul and into my dreams. Take this hands. The ones that arent of mine. Then I will be of living divine. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 157 [topic] => 36 [informant] => Mortis-Dark [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Suicide )
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