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Her brittle nails scrape against the bars of her cage.
She is fighting to focus but her eyes keep rolling to the back of her head.
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The cold mornings are the only things that displace me out of this misery,
But out of dreams means back in this resentful reality.
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It's raining; I love the rain because it spells good fortune.
The rain saves me from slipping but only until the drizzling stops.
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I sit here in my own waste,
Watching hours peel off the clock.
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My chin lies cracked from the many times I have fallen.
The earth grasped from underneath my feet.
by Blank Page
36 lines, 5 comments,
on Aug 12 1:46 PM 2007
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" Every Mile a Memory"
by Blank Page
23 lines, 1 comment,
on Nov 25 10:36 AM 2006
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- Take 3 once a day to get rid of the pain.
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Sitting on my tombstone I try to remember Remember what I was and remember what I felt.
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My reality, your mistake.
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The green burns with a tint of orange and red
Crackling like crickets on a misty night
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After many more lifeless autumns And even more darkening summers
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excuse this poem...I'm not good at happy poems...
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Pain is only my sanity shattering
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In my mind I cant rely on myself...
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I will save the world ...alone if i have to...
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Commented on Ice and um oine of your poems ...guilty - by the way "Fuck face" :)
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