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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 20:15:43 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 83460
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Self Pity
[time] => 2005-02-08 03:28:32
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Why is it that finding the spot inside of me, where Nardo swings in fields of Happiness, is the hardest task to carry out? Where did Life betray me, or did I betray Life? Why am I lost in this under toe of "could have beens" and "if I only did it this way". A saboteur to my own play, I draw the curtain down before the final call. I am a victim of my own murder, having fallen upon my own knife many, many times. When Father died, I should have screamed out, cried out, run about in confusion but, instead I sat in silence, and drew his Death into myself. god turned his back on me long before this day. The swings were only a lie as Happiness and the child in me were buried on the same day Father was. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 157 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Nardo [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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