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Array
(
[sid] => 63678
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Date Rape On Ward Eleven
[time] => 2004-09-14 05:57:31
[hometext] => No concepts of trade, have, i'm afraid, ensured that I will only pass through the Lie of the Needle.
[bodytext] => Roses scatter petals down the corridors of my soul, Their whitened pallor sickens me in sanity's parole, These drugs, These drugs you give me, all they do is make me ill, My god, I hear these footsteps, and I know they step to kill! Smell of paint, imprisoning me within quadrant space, Trace my cross of salvation within your dire embrace! My spine! My spine, it curls and snaps - your decompression's Bends I slip and slide around this room, where twisting knob portends Endless needles, pointing at me from your orifice The slits of eyes so yellowing, desiring sacrifice, My heart, My heart it skips a skipping beat and laughs a beaten quip As 'twixt my unlocked doorway you vehemantly do slip - Menace, malice, ugliness - each one a hybrid whore Of heinous help and homely hoarseness, veg'tables adore . . . My nurse, My nurse, come not with alms or thickened strong-boned arm, For in o'er precipice of care, I'd fall from and have harm. From thousand swirling effigies of scraping blackboard nails Into your killing trust I sway, with mind as black entrails . . . Cold, hard floors. Tiles and doors with metals of the slamming kind. Crack my head on blackboard bed, and let your horror stab my mind . . . Blink the sun. Find the shade. My tree is gone. And you invade. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 199 [topic] => 63 [informant] => Mr_Jeremy [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => hbadday )
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