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Array
(
[sid] => 48975
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Dear Journal
[time] => 2004-05-24 22:09:50
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => So many secrets never before told. So many stories that tend to grow old. In our life our bodies are cold, And we turn into the blackest of souls. Our minds become greater then ever before, And one is always looking to settle a score. We have roamed this world for centuries, only at night, always looking to take a life. Our eyes are as cold as steel, and fill to a crimson red, As we take the blood from the living, and bring it into the dead. We are taught to never take the last drop, for it could end our immortal lives as well. So we take what we need, to be sure to never see hell. You may think of us what you will, but you will never know, What it is like to feel a real thrill. We have always hidden in the shadows, hoping to never be discovered, But one had slipped, and now we are what one wonders. We now walk in the light as well as the shadows. Never will one know who we may be, for we like to remain nothing more than a mystery. If one shall ever come across one of our kind, they will certainly be walking a very thin line. We are not meant to be seen, and our souls were not meant to be clean. So as I say unto you, just be careful of who you may one day meet. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 160 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Rylo [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
|
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