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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 01-June 12:29:19 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 71787
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Red Room
[time] => 2004-11-16 15:12:58
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => my wound was as red as the sunset, as the piano plays gently with the hot summer breeze. i give small sighs as i lay on the floor, covered in autumn leaves. he has left me. again. i look out of the window, wishing for the birds to fly by and tell me it's 10 in the morning. that the sun is moving above our heads, and somewhere in the world outside, a heart is too cold to hear mine beat. he's alone. what has he become? or am i too blinded by the words we speak? too weak? i cannot move my wrist. i cannot feel anything attached to my shoulder. am i slowly dying or has a part of me always been paralyzed? the wind blows in inconsistent pattern. in 5 minutes, it will take me with it. - Rae'04. 110604. Sat. 9:49PM. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 173 [topic] => 48 [informant] => Rae [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
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