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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 10:52:05 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 155702
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Misunderstood
[time] => 2009-12-07 13:59:25
[hometext] => A poem about lonliness and exile
[bodytext] => Where could I turn? There was nobody else. So then I turned To you for help. You declared me a freak And turned your back. I got real upset And began to hack. I'll use anything That's shiny and sharp. Like knives and razors- They're my figurative tarps. I slice at my skin For my heart has been torn. My short sleeve shirts Shall never be worn. I watch in fascination As blood pools in my cut. And I always want more. I'm stuck in a rut. No one understands Just how I am feeling. Can't understand What makes it appealing. It's hard to find words To describe all this pain. I live only to hear My razor calling my name. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 207 [topic] => 72 [informant] => blackroses_bleedinghearts [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => self-harmpoetry )
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