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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 22:16:59 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 37197
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Tired
[time] => 2004-03-03 16:09:34
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Dig myself a shallow grave, drop dead with my last try, make them believe my life was worthwhile, even though they don't know my life was a lie Throw away that shovel... wipe the dirt from my coffin, open it slowly... smell the wretched smell of decay... inside you find.... nothing Breathing grows more difficult by the hour, my limbs grow weak and i start to lose power... My mind goes numb... my feet cold... i can see the world slowly envelop in a dark mist... till all i see is gold I cough up moisture, my noise runs, my back aches... i can't feel Being happy is a feeling i very rarely feel... being tired has become a way of life, hope someday it will change and happiness will become my strife [comments] => 1 [counter] => 231 [topic] => 43 [informant] => kellros [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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