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Array
(
[sid] => 135770
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Where Tinkerbell Now Burn's In Hell . . . Ben
[time] => 2007-07-06 17:29:54
[hometext] => Contrary to beliefe i to have visited the a** end of love more times than i can or am allowed to talk about, only difference is i survied the smell, as in steped in you know what and came out smelling like a rose. As i often said, i wasn't born married.
[bodytext] => Meet me in a fantasy and we shall run away, where sunsets go to dream at night and dance alone by day. Where lovers drift to parts unknown engaging in romance, down little streets of cobblestone here in the south of france. A taste of wine an ocean view perhaps in time a taste of you, lost within a fairytale a place that's free from pain, together in a boat we'll sail amidst the pouring rain. Enchanted by the things we know seduced by what we see, like peter pan we'll never grow in love we'll always be. Oh good christ one day we'll find when often it's to late, we've paye'd the price to lose our mind in opening hell's gate. For is love not a fantasy? design to be a lie, hidden in a woman's womb beyond the naked eye. A prouduct of a process tainted with corruption, a tragic joke that with one stroke spew's it's sick eruption. Yes meet me in a fantasy that place of sweet pretend, where tinkerbell now burn's in hell and god has met his end. Ben [comments] => 4 [counter] => 217 [topic] => 21 [informant] => myheartsvoice [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 20 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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