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I feel as if
I have a wooden spike
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You never did give me a chance to be beautiful
I know I could have been something great
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My body is slow to anger
As it takes abuse after abuse
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‘Little boy, come home’
For your never really know
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My saviors beautiful hands-
That paid the price for me
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I want to show you how to live,
teach you how to thrive
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Whisper to me of moments past,
The fond memories that so allude my grasp.
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Numb, like cherry chapped fingers on a winters day
Nothing matters, as the hours, days, months tick by
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I can here what they’re saying
They think they are so discreet
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He has been there since forever, He has never left my side,
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I try to stop my sobbing
I try to stop my cries
by Nostalgia
24 lines, 2 comments,
on Feb 27 2:57 PM
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f ) There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues.
by Nostalgia
40 lines, 2 comments,
on Nov 8 3:55 PM 2008. In Life
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My finger rests on your velvet cheek Don't flinch away
by Nostalgia
23 lines, 3 comments,
on Nov 8 3:17 PM 2008. In Love
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-Alfa and Omega
Beginning and the end
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Sorrows herald
A tale does tell
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You and I in concert
Matched beat for beat
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This letter is from heaven
A place far, far away
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This really came as inspiration from the lord, and it's from my heart, please give likewise comments.
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Growing up hurts
In that there's no doubt.
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Beatiful, but not inside
You don't know, your looks make me want to cry
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Burst your bubble
Quench your flame
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The image that controls us all,
Shapes us, makes us, till we fall.
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Idolize me?
Think I’m the key?
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He comes so swiftly
You never hear his footsteps.
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What is this thing
That leaves us marveling
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She is a jewel
A precious gem
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Diving through fields of dreams
Marigolds sprinkle golden drops of dew
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M-y Façade face,
I-s slipping away,
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Keep me faithful
As black velvet falls
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Do you hear them on the street?
Do you listen to their cries?
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I know what is right
But I feel what is wrong
by Nostalgia
20 lines, 2 comments,
on Mar 18 8:33 PM 2008
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Lost in the shards of glass
That stab at my fumbling mind
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I finally see the light
On a far and distant path
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Roses, bathed in musky beauty
Tilt forward, and lift their heads
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So tired of the bloodshed streets
And heads as if on a pencil tip
by Nostalgia
33 lines, 1 comment,
on Jan 23 9:12 PM 2008
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