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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 20:43:24 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 13638
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Forced
[time] => 2003-03-02 23:20:00
[hometext] => This is about a person going to the psychiatrist...
[bodytext] => The soft green cushions,
with teeth sharp and long. where I'll rest my head, and realize I'm wrong. Your voice is raspy, and sounds far away. The teeth have locked on, forcing me to stay. Swirls of thoughts twisting, and unleashing truth. Finally describing, my troublesome youth. Demons I'm seeing, escape from my brain. So now I feel cured, yet I'm still 'insane.' I'm suffocating now, in this world I know. I can't be normal, can't go with 'the flow.' I scribble down words, and I try to rhyme. In an old notebook, to free my trapped mind. Its like an escape, for my mind and soul. This is what cures me, and makes me feel whole. Until I return, to the sharp white teeth. And I spew forth dreams, to this high priced theif. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 159 [topic] => 6 [informant] => senorwoohoo [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => AngryPoetry )
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