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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 17:26:49 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 45998
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Garden of Destruction
[time] => 2004-05-03 11:44:15
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => There is an edge of insanity, Over where I walk, on the garden wall. Marigolds and roses and tulips and babys breath. They all creep towards me trying to blind me with their glorious sunsets. As if to say 'We know your game and you can't fight it. Besides, we are prettier than you'. So I stamp on their heads and feel omnipotent, Destroying beauty seems to have more point than creation. I turn over my hands and study those river bed veins in blue that cross and peak at the wrist connection. And I ponder to myself 'How easy it would be to flow the river red and bleed into the sea'. But I retreat, my hands in my pockets, a daisy clenched in my fist. And I whisper: 'I love me. I love me not. I love me. I love me not.' And Make my way to the oven where I stare into the abyss of Plathesque proportions and smell the gas, and smell the gas. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 165 [topic] => 61 [informant] => Bloodyrose [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => selfstruggles )
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