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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 20:09:51 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 140442
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => To a friend
[time] => 2008-02-16 23:21:46
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => "A young girl who swore that people were spying on her from all of the lighting fixtures." And they're, all around me in a white tuxedo under the Mante ceiling. They'll hear me when i stab my doll till it says it loves me; like a mother would teach her Daughter that she ought to hate the perfect stranger. The ones that know that the next morning i'll convulse on the floor. Turn off the light, i kind of like it they can't hear me anymore nor can they torment my soul. I'll undress into my gown and a slipper on the able foot; till God plays the final que. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 250 [topic] => 66 [informant] => SomeDude [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => drugabuse )
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