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Array
(
[sid] => 21355
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Doctor
[time] => 2003-08-02 00:35:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Doctor I would die without you, A pillar for me to climb, You make me perspire, Lucky for me you’re always for hire, Plastic complexities I can’t understand, But the thought of your remedies eat my will And I can’t wait to fall down, To the blood, the spit, and the sullen juice, A devil’s soup I’ll feast on with my devil’s spoon A six-inch doctor, You imprint prescriptions in my head, And I’ll be alive, forgetting the land I fled, Proud, ignoring the youth I shed, When I drag you away to my crimson streets, And you prick me with your glossy head… I would cry, kill without you, If you were alive I would make you my wife, Cannot loose you, doctor You’re the one who gives the one that takes, You gave me this life… damned life that brakes, I hate you doctor, I’ll tear you to little pieces and hide them It is not like before… No, and I will last this time I will not be your whore, I am not dependant Not dependant… Dependant… Oh, how you make me perspire, Why? Is it the soup? Is it the fire? Not important. I will find out soon, Because no matter how many times I have killed you The beauty of it is, you are always for hire… Even if YOU are the fire [comments] => 1 [counter] => 253 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Daniel_jenkis23 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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